


our house (was our castle, our keep)

by INTPSlytherin_reylove97



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Because Season 3 And Everything Happens But Like Hopper Gets Saved?, Because the Hargroves are Involved, Brotherly Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson, Coming Out, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Good Babysitter Steve Harrington, Good Parent Joyce Byers, Grumpy Jim "Chief" Hopper, I Guess Post Season 3, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Jancy is now in the house, Maybe I Haven't Decided Completly Yet, Mike Wheeler Loves Eleven | Jane Hopper, Mike is Lovesick, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Jim "Chief" Hopper, Unplanned Pregnancy, Will Byers Has Powers, Will Byers Needs a Hug, Will Byers and Eleven | Jane Hopper Are Best Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2020-06-27 02:56:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19781812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INTPSlytherin_reylove97/pseuds/INTPSlytherin_reylove97
Summary: The Hopper-Byers house was anything but average.But it was home.--A series of Hopper-Byers family oneshots because I have no chill when it comes to found families.(Note: I guess post season 3 since it acknowledges its events? You'll understand once you read.)





	1. Robin

**Author's Note:**

> So this will be marked as complete all the time because I never really know when I will get back to it, but three parts are already written so far.
> 
> I know there are other fics where everyone becomes a little family and lives together, but this is just my take on it :D
> 
> Fic acknowledges the events of Season 3. Let's just say this is later, and Joyce has found Hopper and rescued him Princess Leia style ala Return of the Jedi and they are now together :)
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

When a frantic knock is heard from the front door, Joyce all but shot up from the bed, knowing without a glance that Jim was right behind her.

Frantic knocks in the middle of the night usually only meant one thing: _trouble_.

And by god, the Hopper-Byers had contended with enough trouble in their lives. Living in the outskirts of Hawkins allowed a little peace of mind, no one becoming suspicious of their little family and the oddities surrounding them when the closest neighbor was at least a few good miles away. It was safer that way, both Joyce and Jim agreeing unanimously when they decided to move in together.

However their practically remote location did not stop the couple from always being on the verge of fight or flight on almost all occasions.

Apparently their kids were the same, Will and El standing by their opposite bedroom doors. A second later, Max’s head popped up in the mix, the girl spending the night. Like she did on _most_ nights.

“Stay in your rooms,” Jim ordered when passing by, Joyce barely acknowledging as she carried her feet faster.

Taking the stairs two steps at a time, she made it to the door before her partner, swinging open the door despite the hushed protests.

Standing on their doorstep, eyes rimmed red and a backpack slung over her shoulder, was Steve’s friend Robin. Joyce and Jim knew the girl, she’d been over to their house plenty of times. Over the course of a month, she and Steve were practically a package deal—where he went, she went and vice versa.

So it was strange to see the girl without Harrington by her side.

“Uh—Robin sweetie,” Joyce uttered, still shocked to see it was no harm and just the girl. Feeling the October wind pick up, she hugged her sweater closer to her chest, and stepped to the side to let the girl inside. “What…what are you doing here? It’s almost two in the morning.”

“I…uh,” the girl entered the house, her head ducked down, “I…uh, need somewhere to stay.”

“What happened?” Jim asked as he closed the front door. His voice was groggy with sleep, though becoming clearer the longer he remained awake.

The girl shifted from foot to foot, forcing a pleasant smile as though it would be reassuring to the highly observant pair. “Uh…just needed to get out of the house,” she said tactfully, not giving any real details. She then turned to Joyce, eyes pleading. “I promise, it’s only for night Joyce,” Robin assured her, before glancing over at the less than enthusiastic man beside the matriarch, “…and Chief,” she tacked on as an afterthought. “If I could, I’d go to Harrington’s but he’s _kind of_ out of town at the police academy.”

Everyone was aware Steve was off at the police academy. After hopping from job to job, the kid finally realized he might actually be decent at the whole officer thing rather than slugging on by haplessly. So he worked and made the grade on his assessments, before heading off to complete his training.

Of course that meant his absence was felt. Dustin was down and about at the loss of his best friend, and the kids bemoaned how they didn’t have anyone to drive them around anymore. El was just bumped she lost someone to talk to—she and Steve had oddly became close, the guy explaining some more social skills to the girl than her friends we equipped with.

Jim and Joyce simply missed having another set of eyes on the kids, with Jonathan and Nancy off at college, it meant two less sets of helping hands. Now they were down to just them keeping the kids out of two much trouble, most of the kids not even their own.

However, Joyce never thought how Steve’s departure would have effected Robin.

“We have no problem with you staying here,” Joyce was quick to comfort her, “you are always welcomed here—”

“We just want to know why,” Jim informed the girl sternly, with little room for argument. Joyce understood where he was coming from—he by no means was turning away the girl, he just wanted to know what caused her to suddenly feel unsafe and come banging on their door.

“I—” Robin looked at a loss, eyes watering again, “um…Steve said if anything were to happen between my parents and I, to come here.” The strain in her voice did not go unnoticed by either adult.

“Did they hurt you?” Jim asked quietly, his hackles rising.

The girl’s eyes blew wide. “No—No—God, no!” Her eyes screwed shut. “No, they would never lay a hand on me,” she said. “We just had a disagreement about something important, and I didn’t feel comfortable at home tonight,” she explained, tension straining on her shoulders. “God, I’m sorry—I’ll go. Sorry to have woken you—”

“No, no, no,” Joyce caught her arm, “It’s the middle of the night. We’ll set you up in Jonathan’s room.” She sent a stern look to Jim, “Hon, I got this,” she muttered, staring up at him with imploring eyes.

Reluctant, he nodded, “I’ll go check on the kids,” he mumbled, before heading back upstairs.

Once he was gone, Joyce gave a small smile to the girl. “Come on, Jonathan has the downstairs bedroom, just down the hall,” she told her as she led Robin further into the house. Stopping by the linen closet, Joyce grabbed a couple of blankets before continuing her journey to her son’s room. There wasn’t much in the room, Jonathan moving into the space the summer before college. Most of his belongings went with him, save for his bed, desk, and a few posters of bands she never heard of lining the walls.

Quietly, the two women made the bed, Robins still mum as she followed through the motions.

As she was fluffing a pillow, Joyce thought it best to broach the subject now with her imposing looking husband back in bed. “Sweetie, you don’t have to tell us now…but Hop’s gonna wanna know,” the girl tensed again, “not because he’s upset, his face be damned, but because he cares. A lot,” Joyce added, hugging the pillow to her chest. “He just wants to make sure you are safe and there is nothing to worry about because you matter to Steve, and anyone who matters to Steve matters to us.”

Considering Joyce’s words, Robin sat down on the edge of the bed pensively. Her hands fiddled on her lap, scratching at the chipped black polish on her nails. She looked back up to Joyce, terrified but longing. “If…if I tell you the truth, you won’t hate me?” she asked, her voice small.

Joyce blinked at the girl, surprised by the gravity of the situation taking its toll on her. Sitting beside her, Joyce rested a warm hand on the girl’s fiddling ones. “I won’t hate you,” she assured her, looking dead in the eye. “I promise.”

Robin took a deep breath, hands shaking. “My…my parents found out I don’t like boys...and they weren’t too happy,” she confessed, her words barely above a whisper. Withheld tears began to spill from her eyes, Robin wiping them away with the back of her right hand, Joyce still holding her left steadily. “They didn’t kick me out or anything, but…I could tell by the look in their eyes they didn’t see me as _theirs_ anymore. And it hurt…a lot,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Oh honey,” Joyce pulled the girl into a warm and comforting hug.

While feeling pain for the girl’s situation, she did not have the right words of comfort. She had her own theories on her son, but there was never anything discussed or declared; their family just took what he said as face value. Will declares he won’t ever be in love? Okay, they will let him be. Joyce knew better than trying to control kids emotions and attractions; validating them and being a listening ear was the best she could when they were in distress.

“You can stay as long as you want,” she murmured, feeling the girl nod gratefully into her shoulder.

A faint ‘thank you’ was heard as Robin pulled away from the hug reluctantly. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, a small half smile on her lips.

A half smile was better than nothing.

* * *

The moment she slid back into bed, a warm arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer.

“Everything fine?” Jim mumbled by her ear.

She patted his arm lightly, before intertwining their fingers. “I…” she sighed deeply, “I think Robin might be staying with us longer than one night,” she confessed, turning a little to glance back at him. “She’s going through somethings with her family and she felt a little unwelcomed there.”

Not exactly what Robin told her, but Joyce read the situation well enough. It was Robin’s decision who she told, Joyce was not going to take that away from her. Not to mention it was evident by her reaction it was an incredibly small circle who knew.

From behind her, she felt him hum in understanding. “She’s a young adult. It happens,” he said, his sympathy for the girl heard.

“I let her know she can stay as long as she wants.”

“Good,” he mumbled, groggy and already falling back asleep, “good. Got keep the kids…”

A distinct snore finished his statement, Joyce rolling her eyes fondly at the sound.

“You’re right, Hop,” she whispered, patting his arm once more, “Gotta keep the kids safe.”


	2. Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typos will be fixed later.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

Unceremoniously, Steve arrived at their door step one Sunday afternoon, fresh out of the academy. His hair was tidy and a bit short _—“It’s the rules, kid,” Hop muttered. “But you can grow it back to its glory if you want once you're at the station.”_ —and he wore a stressed and practiced smile.

Though Joyce’s eyes dropped to the suitcase and backpack by his feet, her mind racing to a conclusion she knew was a few years in the making.

“So, funny thing…” he said with a chuckle, Joyce raising an eyebrow at the hollow sound. “My dad kicked me out—”

“Steve!” Joyce uttered, covering her mouth. “What happened—what did you do?”

“Why—why would you assume I did something?”

“Steve did something?” Max called out tauntingly from the living room, she lounging on the couch as she read her comics. Her shoes were kicked off to the side and the throw blanket found itself wrapped around the girl, she cozy and at home in her little corner of the couch.

Neither El or Will were home, not unusual for Max to show up despite this fact. Both had gone off to the library a few hours earlier, Will claiming he needed to introduce El to the _Lord of the Rings_ because he couldn’t let his sister be depraved of such ‘splendor’.

“It’s none of your business!” Steve shouted out to the girl.

“ _Steve_ ,” Joyce warned lightly. The young man sighed, knowing he was technically the older one here. Opening the door wider, she motioned for him to come in. “How about you come in and I make you some coffee?”

“Please,” he all but begged, all pretenses of wellness falling away at the offer.

* * *

“I mean, _I get it_ ,” Joyce started, pouring a cup of coffee for herself and Steve, “it is nerve-wracking to have someone you love on the force. I sure know it,” she set the mugs on the kitchen table as she went to the fridge, grabbing creamer. “It’s not easy to know something can happen.”

“Anything can happen to anyone anywhere,” Steve muttered, pouring a heavy helping of creamer into his mug.

“But it’s different,” she stressed, “because you know the risks are a little higher—”

“I’ll be pushing papers for the next year and half,” he argued, stirring his drink. “I’ll be pushing _Hopper’s_ papers around for the next year and half. And I’ve already seen the worst and put my life on the line—”

She caught his hand with hers. “And we know that.” An apologetic smile then formed on her lips. “But your dad doesn’t.”

“It’s an excuse,” he grumbled, “me actually becoming and officer and doing what I want is just unfathomable to him because I didn’t follow his plan.”

“And what was his plan?”

“Graduated top of my class _like him_ ,” he rolled his eyes, “go to a good college, and then run the family business along side him until he retires and then take the mantel.” He shook his head, hands rubbing up and down his thighs. “But that’s not me. It never was me and now I am homeless because of him deciding he just _had enough_.”

“What does your mom think?”

“That’s a joke right?”

Okay, there was more to this than Joyce initially thought.

“She…she sides with my dad. All the time,” he said a bit reluctantly. “She didn’t want me to go. I…I think she’s afraid I’m leaving for good, or something,” he mumbled offhandedly, hoping to not make it an issue. “But I can’t leave Hawkins; Hawkins is home.”

She patted his hand. “I get what you mean.”

He nodded, keeping his head tucked down, still processing his thoughts. Upon first meeting Steve appeared to be a confident and charismatic guy—and he was on occasion—yet he was more sensitive than meets the eye. Introspective might have been the better word. Sure, he’d tease the kids and call them names, but it was through fondness and care. Malice never found its way into his words these days.

At some point over the last few years everyone else’s concerns came first and his just fell to the side. Keeping the ‘happy’ amongst their little hodge-podge group seemed to be his mission, though Joyce saw right through the act.

Afterall, it took one to know one.

Releasing his hand, Joyce spooned some sugar in her coffee. Stirring it, she noticed Max slowly creep into the kitchen. She came to stand by the open chair nearest to Steve, though not quite sitting. More hovering in the event she needed to flee.

“You’re moving?” the girl questioned Steve, chin held high. Apparently nothing went unheard or eavesdropped in the damn house.

“Uh…yeah. I guess? Probably going to find some apartment the next town over,” his dejected mumble fell hard on Joyce’s ears, she feeling she needed to fix the situation.

“But you can’t,” Max ordered sharply, her voice rising. “You belong here, in Hawkins.”

“It’d only be a few minutes away—”

“But you belong here—you’re one of us,” she stuttered, her sweet freckled face blooming into an angry flush. “You can’t just leave. We need you,” her head whipped to Joyce, bright hair flailing “ _Right_?”

“Um,” Joyce hummed, eyes stressing as she looked between the two kids. Max determined in a panicked haze, and Steve in downtrodden acceptance. “I—I need to talk to—um,” her eyes set on the young man before her, “Don’t make any decisions just yet, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Steve nodded mutely, not quite understanding what the rush was all about. Max on the other hand…the knowing glint in her eyes spoke volumes.

Damn, the kid was too smart for her own good. She knew how to push the right sentimental buttons.

Shaking her head, Joyce hurried out of the kitchen, grabbing her keys on her way out. The station was good fifteen minute drive away; she needed to get going if she was going to catch Hopper on his lunch.

* * *

“We only have four rooms.”

“I know,” Joyce mumbled, slumping further on the bench.

The two were just outside the station, sitting out in the cool October air. They were far enough the noisy gossips in Hawkins P.D. wouldn’t catch wind of their conversation, but close enough for Flo to pop out and wave for him to come handle some business.

“He’s going to have to share,” Jim stated obvious.

“I’m aware.”

“But we can’t stick him with the kids,” he continued, “And he can’t come and go as he pleases. It is still my house, my rules.”

“He’s not like that Hop,” she said with a sigh, “you _know_ he is not like that. He’d be too nervous to do anything living under the same roof as you.”

“ _Right_.” He took another drag from his cigarette, passing it back to her. “Harrington kicked out because he wants to be a cop? Now that’s a new one.”

“We went to school with his dad, you and I both know that guy always had a stick up his ass,” Joyce reminded him. “The Harrington’s have a ‘legacy’,” she said with an eyeroll, “they wanted to mold Steve into that. He’s just not following.”

Jim grunted in thought, yet remained silent over the matter.

“I think…maybe we should let him move in—have him contribute to the house, since he _is_ working and Jonathan did the same when he worked and lived at the house, not to mention Robin is starting to pitch in too. It’s only fair.”

“And rooming…?”

“Have him share with Robin.”

Jim’s eyebrows jumped. “ _Steve and Robin_? I’m not allowing any funny business—”

“Trust me—that’s not going to happen,” Joyce was quick to assure him, resting a warm hand on his wrist. “Steve and Robin are the least thing to worry about. And that—that is _not_ a thing.” Wrapping her arms around herself, she peaked up him with a small, sad smile. “He doesn’t want to find a place in the next town over and the kids don’t want him to leave. And he doesn’t want to be too far from his mom.”

A tried sigh came through Jim’s nose. A tired, though _agreeing_ sigh.

“We’ll talk to him together, but…yeah. Yeah, okay.”

* * *

“Dude, it will be like summer camp every night,” Steve told Robin as they attempted to carry his mattress through the house.

Tilting her head to the side, Robin barely caught sight of him. “You’ve never had a roommate before, have you?”

“No, why?”

“It’s never like summer camp.” She rolled her eyes, giving the mattress another shove. “Come on Harrington, put some muscle into it!”

“Oh shut up, I’m the one doing all the work here!”

“Really, dingus? Who is the one pushing this damn thing, again? Who—oh _me_!”

From the end of the hall, Joyce and Hopper watched the two with moderate interest and concern. They’d been helping with the move, grabbing a couple of Steve’s boxes when they heard the two soon-to-be roommates bickering.

“Are you sure it is a good idea to have them share a room?” Jim muttered, glancing down at his wife with hesitance.

Neither Steve or Robin would be home enough to actually spend time in the room besides sleeping. Both were busy bees with school and work respectively. Sharing a room would probably make the two friends lives ten times easier considering how often they were being pulled in different directions.

“Oh, they will be fine,” Joyce bumped his shoulder with a grin. “Some healthy arguing never did any wrong.”

“Aw, shit,” Steve groaned, “Robin! You left all your clothes on the floor—I thought you said you picked them up.”

“Just kick them to the side, Steve—It’s not that hard!”

“I’m not going to just—” a stumbled and crash echoed from down the hall, followed by a cry in pain“— _Fuck_! Shit, I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” Jim said, glancing down at her with an air of arrogance, “‘healthy arguing’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve is one of my favs. He honestly has the best character development :)
> 
> Let me know what you think! Comments and kudos are always appreciated; love discussing fic with readers!


	3. Mike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typos will be fixed later!
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

While drinking his third cup of coffee and stuffing a donut in his mouth, a frantic Karen Wheeler came barging into Jim’s office. For once her make-up wasn’t done to the nines nor was her hair perfectly permed, but quite the opposite.

The last time he recalled Karen looking less than put together was…well never.

“Chief—I think my son is missing,” she declared, waving away Flo who was asking her to wait outside his office, “I haven’t heard from him in days and I called all his friends and none of them have seen him—”

Jim blinked at her, dumbfounded by this news.

Sure, the kid was annoying on most days. More like every day, and he visited way too much for Jim’s taste.

But Mike missing?

It was laughable—

 _Until it wasn’t_.

Because the last time Jim recalled seeing the kid was over the weekend, and it was already Thursday.

“And Joyce said the last time she saw him was at her house on Sunday— _Sunday_ , Chief!”

“He’s sixteen Karen. It’s not unusual for a sixteen year olds run off, they come back in a few days,” he attempted to rationalize, not let his mind wander to any anxieties he may have.

Last time a kid went missing in Hawkins, he’d been taken to another dimension.

Last time a teen went missing in Hawkins, they were _dead_.

Yet…

If anything were to happen to Mike, good or bad, his daughter would know. If Mike was in trouble, she’d know in an instant and go running head first into a hurricane to save her nerdy boyfriend.

Based off his interactions with that morning, El was fine. Happy even, humming as she made herself a couple of peanut butter sandwiches. She even wish him good morning—a rare occurrence these days as she woke up grumpy and with an untamable bedhead—before hurrying off to her room to grab her backpack.

“It’s been a few days, no one has seen him or heard from him!” Karen continued, standing tall in the doorway. She didn’t fully enter the room, standing there as though she wanted all of Hawkins P.D. to hear of her detrimental situation. If Jim was perfectly honest, he wouldn’t put it past her. “Not even Nancy! And they call each other all the time.”

Sighing, Jim set his mug and donut down and traded them for a pen and notepad. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“Monday night,” she said, glancing down at her hands. “He went to bed upset—”

“Upset how?” Jim interjected, knowing it didn’t take much to make Mike upset. The kid was a ticking time bomb of emotion the majority of the time. Just saying he was ‘upset’ did little for Jim, especially if he wanted to get to the root of the problem _fast_.

“I don’t know,” she huffed, “Just _upset_! Moody, slamming doors,” she muttered. “I swear it gets worse the older he gets, and he was such a sweet baby.”

Jim paused, lifting his head with exasperation. “He’s sixteen; all sixteen year olds are a menace. I’d know I have two,” he reminded her bluntly.

Karen remained frowning at him, Jim suddenly aware of where Mike got his stubborn frowny-pout. “What triggered it?” Looking up from his notepad, he noticed Karen’s face become flush and eyes watery.

She swallowed tightly before the damn broke loose. “ _Shit_! It’s all my fault,” she declared, her voice horse. She took a seat in the chair across from his desk and pulled out a wad of tissues from her purse. Blowing her nose and wiping her eyes, Karen guilty peeked back up at Jim. “Ted and I decided to separate,” she informed his stiltedly.

Jim exhaled heavily—well, he wasn’t expecting _that_.

Not that it was any secret Karen and Ted lost their spark almost immediately after the wedding. An odd pairing on the surface, one that did cause a few whispers in town when it occurred. However they’d been married for a good twenty years, and the death of a marriage was still a terrible loss no matter the situation that caused it.

“We told Mike on Monday, during dinner,” she explained, hands clasped firmly on her lap. “He…was not happy to say the least. I heard him at some point in the morning leave—he left earlier than usual, but I just thought maybe he wanted to get out of the house and get to school early. He _likes_ school,” she said tiredly, though with a sad smile. “Chief…just find my son, wherever he is off doing and being a knucklehead. Just bring him back.”

Standing up, Jim grabbed his hat and jacket, heading for the door. “I think I know where I can find him.”

* * *

It was almost comical how easy it’d been to find Mike.

Key word: _almost_.

“Kid, I know you are in here,” Jim bellowed into his house, his voice traveling. The house should have been empty—Joyce at work, the kids at school, Robin at her part time job at the video store, and Steve pushing papers at the station. “And don’t you damn try and run off!”

Taking the stairs two steps at a time, Jim made it to his daughter’s room in record time. Opening the door slowly, he caught Mike rather poorly attempting to squeeze himself under El’s bed. The kid was all arms and limbs and frankly too tall to fit under a twin size bed.

Upon seeing Jim, he froze, and then tried to hide again as though he wasn’t just caught.

“Kid—just stop,” he ordered with no heat.

Instead, he lend a hand to the kid.

Mike stared at it like Jim was about to pull a fast one on him.

“You’re not going to kill me are you?” the teen breathed out.

“ _Goddamn it_ —no!” Jim thrusted his hand out again. “Just get the hell out from under there and call your mother.”

“What?” Mike balked. “My mom? Why?” He wiggled a bit, slowly worming his out from under the bed.

“Because she’s worried sick and won’t leave the station until she know where you’re at,” Jim told him, attempting to keep his anger in check. Sometimes it was just too difficult with the kid who seemed to love to challenge authority. “Now go to the phone and _maybe_ I won’t chew you out for being in my daughter’s bedroom.”

The kid’s hands were held up in surrender as he stood back up. “I promise I never slept in here! I was just looking for the book I loaned her—I’ve been sleeping in Will’s room,” he sputtered out, his voice cracking in fear.

Reluctantly, Jim believed the kid’s confession. Max usually spent the night more often than not, a progression neither Joyce or Jim knew how to address. Surely the girl would have chewed Mike out for attempting to sleep in the same room as her and El, she a personal watchdog for his daughter if there ever was one.

“Fine, just do what I said and then we discuss why you are hiding in my house, hm?”

Begrudgingly, Mike nodded in agreement, dropping his hands to his sides. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

“Michael!” Karen cried out the moment her son stepped out of the truck.

She rushed down the steps, wrapping her son—her taller son—into the bone crushing hug. Unsurprisingly, Mike did not return her affections, his arms locked by his side.

Of course his mother noticed the lack of response. In retaliation, she held his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. “Honey, _never_ run off like that again—I was worried sick and no one knew where you were—”

“Cut it out, Mom,” Mike grumbled, ducking his head away from her hold. “I was just gone for a few days. It’s not big deal, I can take care of myself.”

Huffing, Karen held her son’s arm as she turned to look back at Jim, lips in a firm line. “Where was he?”

“Mrs. Wheeler, I think it is best we talk about this inside—”

“I want to talk about this right now,” she interjected, head held high. “I need to know where my son was and how you found him so fast.”

Ah, she was already surmising her own conclusions. A dangerous game, when Jim already formed a clever excuse.

“Hiding out in my old cabin.”

Mike’s head snapped up at the answer, eyeing Jim warily as the chief continued his well thought out answer.

“Your old cabin?” Karen uttered, blinking at Jim dumbly. “How? I—”

“Mrs. Wheeler, let’s not forget my daughter is dating your son. A while back I gave him a key to the place since he was visiting so often and I didn’t always want to be answering the door. You know how it is?”

“ _Sure_.”

“I never took the key back. And when you said no one heard from him or knew where he was, I thought maybe he’d be there since it would be a perfect place for a kid who does not have a history of running away to go to.”

While Karen seemed reluctant to believe Jim, she had no other choice but to. With a sigh, she turned back to Mike, patting away his out of hand hair.

The kid looked less than pleased by the intrusion.

“Sweetie, you didn’t have to run away—”

“Yeah, I did,” Mike argued, shrugging off his mother. “Because everything sucks at home. You kicked Dad out, you guys are going to therapy, Holly is always with the Sinclair’s or with me. Nancy doesn’t even know what’s going on! So yeah, I ran away because nowhere feel like home anymore. Nowhere except—” he glanced over at Jim, swallowing his words.

Both adults caught the look.

Mike spent most of his time at the Hopper-Byers house. His girlfriend was there, his best friend was there, and even then when both would be busy the boy found himself hanging around. He wanted to be out of the house, away from the confusion going on between his parents.

“I just…” the kid scrubbed his face. “This winter break is gonna suck because—because of it all.”

For once, the perfectly put together Karen Wheeler looked at a loss.

“I think the chief is right. This might be something best discussed inside.”

* * *

“It’s not unheard of Karen,” Jim said slowly, “kids sent to live with family or friends during stressful situations. My mom and dad did the same for a family friend when I was growing up.”

“I’m not one to shove my responsibilities onto someone else’s plate,” she argued tiredly. “Michael is _my_ son.”

“Never said he wasn’t.”

“It’s my job to raise him.”

“And you have—and will,” Jim assured her. “But…he’s also not a kid anymore. He’s growing up, not oblivious to mom and dad not getting along. You can’t hide things like a crumbling marriage from him anymore.”

Across from him she blinked in effort to not feel her ebbing tears. Silently, she looked out the office window, out into the hall where Mike sat in waiting.

Turning back to Jim, she heaved a water sigh. “He’s not happy at home. He doesn’t sleep most nights and he is constantly in edge. I feel like I try everything…yet there’s this wall of disconnection…as though something happened to him and he just refuses to let me know.”

Guilt gnawed inside Jim. To say Karen wasn’t trying…well, it would be a half truth. But she didn’t even know half her battle with Mike—she didn’t know her son experienced trauma and was confused by all chaos following them.

“Somehow you were able to convince him to call me and come here.” Her disappointment in herself palpable. “He doesn’t even listen to me most of the time,” she stated miserably. “It’s like I don’t even recognize my own baby half the time.”

Knowing this was not his decision alone to make—and not to mention he was not exceptionally fond of the idea—Jim felt put on the spot.

Yet he still made an explicit offer; more than an idea they were discussing in the confines of the office. “How about…he stays with us for now until the end break? Like a trial period.”

“And then what?”

“You decide if you want it to be longer. You’d know where you and Ted stand, hopefully, and can make decision.”

Karen frowned in thought, chewing on her thumbnail.

“It’s not like we’d be holding him hostage or he won’t see you—it’s just on the other side of town,” Jim reminded her. “And he can go home whenever he wants. In fact, maybe a month with us will make him realize how lucky he has it with you.”

A watery chuckle escaped Karen, she wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Thanks, Chief.”

He politely waited until the water works stopped before letting her break the news to Mike.

* * *

“Hop—what happened to ‘we only have four rooms’?” Joyce hissed at him as they were digging through the storage shed out behind the house. “Now Mike is _living_ with us?”

“I thought you’d be happy with this Mama Bear,” he grumbled as he went looking for his tools. One of the kids must have been rummaging in shed again, some of his belongings misplaced. He wouldn’t put it past Max to come looking to stick her nose where it didn’t belong. “More kids in the house, you love that—” he could feel her eye roll despite his back turned to her, “—and it’s Mike. If anyone should have a problem about it’s _me_.”

“Seriously—you think I am upset about that, _Hop_?” There she went with the sassy ‘Hop’—oh ho, no longer her dear old husband ‘Jim,’ but a grumpy little snap of ‘Hop’. “I don’t care who moves in, I care about how you decided this without me!” She marched up beside him, plucking his hammer out of seemingly nowhere and handing it off to him. “Remember, we’re team Hop and Joyce—Chief and Detective,” she said with a small, teasing eyeroll, “we do this parenting and relationship thing together, and that means we discuss things before we decide to let our daughter’s boyfriend move in!”

“Oh!” He whirled around to her with a large knowing grin. “So you are upset it is Mike, El’s _boyfriend_ , moving in!”

“ _Of course I’m upset_!” she yelled back. “Those two go a thousand miles a minute, and I am not ready to be a grandma, Hop.”

He paused, shuddering with anger and disgust at the prospect. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“But it’s a possibility!” she argued, “And it’s not that I don’t trust them—its just that…” she groaned, running her hands through her hair. “Well, I don’t trust them.”

“Awe, babe,” Jim called out, grabbing his bucket of nails and screws handing off its designated hook, “why don’t you just have a _heart-to-heart_ with them?”

Lifting her head from her hands, she glared at him. “You are not as funny as you think you are,” she said, lips pinched into a harsh line.

“It’s just for the month, Joyce,” he assured her, walking deeper into the large shed. “We can survive a month, and I have a way with Mike.”

“Yeah, putting the fear of God in him,” she muttered, arms crossed stubbornly over her chest. “You are bigger dummy than I thought you were if you think this is going to be a ‘just a month’ thing.”

“Just a month!” he declared. “If not, we’ll take it from there. But I highly doubt Karen will let us keep her boy here for any longer than that.” He grunted as he shoved aside some boxes. “Now come help me get this mattress and bedframe out of here.”

Shaking her head, she went over to help him. “I swear, if there is another kid in this house we are going to have a problem on our hands.”

“Says the woman who brings them in like they are puppies.”

There wasn’t enough room for another kid. Hell, they were already at their wits end with the ones they had running around, no matter how old and adult the teens claimed to be.

Neither cared to think of the possibility much longer as they brought the old bed out of the shed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, let's see how wrong Joyce and Hopper are!
> 
> Who do you think will move in next? ;) It will certainly be someone expected the next go around.
> 
> Let me know what you think! Comments and kudos are always appreciated; love discussing the fic with readers :D


	4. Interlude: Christmas Eve-Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INTERLUDES!
> 
> Lots of stuff will happen in interludes, along with POV skipping. As in we get more than Joyce or Hopper's POV, but the kid's as well! :D
> 
> Typos will be fixed later!
> 
> Enjoy :)

* * *

Holidays with a full house were—

“ _Give me back my spray you shithead_!”

“Has anyone seen my scrunchie? I can’t find my green scrunchie!”

“ _Who the hell hung mistletoe in this house? I said_ no _mistletoe_!”

“Can we _please_ play D and D?”

“ _Leave me_ alone _! I had a late shift at the video store last night_!”

“Where are the keys? I need my car keys, kids!”

“ _El—this is the best Christmas song ever_!”

“TURN THAT DOWN, WHEELER!”

—interesting. And loud to say the least.

“Mom, can you help with the rest of the decorations?” Will asked, a box of Christmas lights in his arms.

Looking up from her purse, Joyce gave her son an apologetic smile. “I’d love to sweetie, but I have to cover someone’s shift last minute,” she said hoping her son bought the lie.

“At the nursing home? I thought they gave you the next two weeks off,” Will said innocently enough.

Ever since she came back to Hawkins, Joyce worked at the local nursing home in a basic nine to five position where she’d work the front desk. A theoretical step up from customer service, but still where her people skills came in handy on the daily. Her kids hadn’t heard the term, ‘covering someone’s shift’ in years.

“Um…yeah. Linda called in sick. Needs someone to watch the front desk for her for the rest of the afternoon,” Joyce told her son, hoping her voice wasn’t getting any higher as she pulled out another lie.

Her son didn’t seemed convinced but didn’t argue. “Okay…well, Robin is sleeping, Steve just left for the station, I can’t find El or Mike anywhere, and Max flipped me off before leaving the house all together,” he said with annoyance, “So I don’t know who else to ask.”

“Why don’t you ask Hopper?” Joyce suggested, opening the kitchen drawers in the happenstance she left her car keys there. “I’m sure he’d be happy to help you finish decorating.”

The last few Christmases had been on the less than average side; ’83 was simple and quite, just the Byers together, _happy_ to be together after nearly losing Will. The following year it was a muted Christmas their little family going through some mourning and adjusting, Joyce not necessarily in the mood, but putting on a brave face for her sons….and Hopper and El. After all it was the girl’s first celebrated Christmas, she deserved some joy. Then ’85 was complete and utter chaos—the Russian’s, finding Hopper to be alive, lots of crying. Really, an obscene amount of crying from _everyone_.

In the mess of their lives, Christmas came and gone, New Year’s already chasing after it.

This year would be the first normal Christmas for some time, and her kid deserved to decorate the house with someone who loved it just as much…even if he didn’t always let it show.

“Ask…Hopper?” Will repeated back slowly, as though she were the one who didn’t quite understand what she just suggested.

“Yes,” Joyce stressed, blinking back at her son, confused by his resistance, “Ask Hopper.”

“Are we talking about the same Hopper who lives with us?”

“Yes, Will. What other Hopper would I be talking about?” Joyce said as she left the kitchen for the living room. The freshly cut, bare Christmas tree sat proudly in the corner of the room, waiting to don the decorations in Will’s arms. She spared it a small glance as she continued the hunt for her keys between the couch cushions.

Will followed her, watching as she turned over every pillow and linger blanket in her path. “Isn’t he…I don’t know…a Grinch when it comes to Christmas?”

A sputtered laugh escaped Joyce, she catching herself on the arm of the couch. “Just because he looks like one, doesn’t mean he is, honey. Hopper loved Christmas growing up,” she defended wholeheartedly, only huffing when she came up short in the living room. “His family would have big parties. He and I would ice skating on Christmas Eve when we were your age and go with our mother’s for some carol singing—okay, maybe we hated that part,” she paused a soft smile on her lips, “but he and I had a lot fun around Christmas as kids.”

“Didn’t Robin borrow your car last night?” Will finally voiced, face pinched in thought.

“Yes!” Joyce dashed out of the living room and down the hall to Robin and Steve’s room—well, technically Jonathan’s room, but they’d cross that bridge once they got there.

Knocking a couple of time, Joyce called out, “Robin—it’s me, Joyce. Do you have my car keys?”

A couple of muffled groans and grumbles came from the room. Soon enough Robin swung open the door, depositing the keys in Joyce’s hand before shutting the door again.

“Remember, get up—we have guests coming after seven!” Joyce called back.

“ _Okay_!”

Satisfied with the response, Joyce turned to her son, and brought his head down for kiss on the head. “Sweetheart, just ask Hopper—he’d do it in a heartbeat. I really got to go,” she stressed, rushing back to the kitchen for her purse. “Please just pick up around the house and decorate the tree before Jonathan and Nancy get here!” she called out, grabbing the rest of her belongs before darting out the door with a hasty goodbye.

While she loved her sweet boy, she had to get to doctor’s office before she missed her appointment.

* * *

“Um—Hopper?” Will’s voice called out into the backyard.

Pausing his work, Jim waved to the boy as he set down his axe. He’d been chopping fire wood, not keen on doing so during the holiday when he’d rather be inside with his family. “Yeah? What do you need?”

Wound tightly in his coat, Will made his way over to Jim, a hesitance in his step. “I need some help with finishing decorations, since we never really got around to it, and Jonathan’s coming home tonight.” He peered up at Jim, eyes sharp on him like his mother. “Mom said you can help me…”

Jim was surprised by the offer. Not that he and Will didn’t get along—they did and Will always seemed to like him for the most part—but they never quite bonded the way Joyce always hoped they would. Joyce lamented about it enough, but Jim knew it was merely because he didn’t want to spook the kid. Will was of the jittery sort, always had been before the Upside Down business, and wasn’t interested in many activities outside the house, sticking to his board games and art. Which was perfectly fine, Jim didn’t blame him, as he found himself liking reclusiveness as well.

They just never clicked the way Joyce hoped they would. Sure there was love and respect, Jim willing to lay his life down for the kid…but no bonding or clicking of any sort.

“Yeah, just let me take care of this firewood and we can get to work,” Jim assured him, gathering the chopped wood to his left.

Oddly enough, Will followed him, picking up one of the chopped logs he dropped on his way into the house. Upon entering the threshold, Jim glance to find the boy keeping up and led him over to the fireplace.

“So what’s the plan?” Jim asked as he made a firewood stack beside the fireplace.

“Decorate the tree with some ornaments and garland; I pulled some from the shed and grabbed some of yours too,” Will informed him, taking off his jacket and grabbing said boxes.

Jim frowned; he didn’t expect the kid to going digging into his things too.

“Okay, let’s get to it,” Jim clapped his hands together, rubbing them. He pulled one box over, recognizing a beaded garland his mother put together eons ago. A swell of bittersweet nostalgia stirred in him for once at the sight, Jim looking forward to using some of his family’s forgotten ornaments. Feeling Will’s eyes on him and the uncomfortable weight of silence, he decided some music was in order—a common ground for him and Will. “Got any music? Can’t get to work if we don’t have music.”

For the first time in a while, Will grinned at him, rushing off to go get the radio from the kitchen.

Soon the sound of the local radio filled the living room, Christmas tunes brightening both their moods.

* * *

“I like this,” Mike confessed, squeezing El’s hand lightly. “Just walking, being us.”

They continued on the trail, most of the snow from the previous few days melting to little mounds.

“Me too,” she said with a smile, leaning into his arm.

“In the house it feels like we never get time to ourselves,” he continued. “Out here it’s just us.”

“Yeah, us,” she repeated, her heart filling with joy at the thought of ‘them’. She always liked spending time with Mike, whether that be talking or walking or reading…doing whatever with him made her feel lighter.

“I can’t wait until we finish high school and we can go off and it just be us together—”

El’s feet planted in a stop, yanking Mike a little. Confused he turned back to her, El’s mouth in a firm line. “‘Go off’?” she said again, eyes latching onto his, wide and in shock. “ _Leave_?”

“Well, yeah,” Mike shrugged, still holding her hand in his. “That’s what people do. They grow up, graduate, leave, get married, have their own lives…that’s what we’re going to do some day maybe—I don’t know.” His cheeks burned red, El unsure if it was from the cold winds or his embarrassment.

“But I won’t want to leave,” she told him simply.

“I mean right now you probably don’t, but later—”

“I won’t want to leave, _ever_.”

Her sharp words disenchanted the moment, their sweet winter stroll gone in an instant.

Mike gaped, staring down at El in complete befuddlement. “But that’s how life works—you have to leave eventually. Like Nancy and Jonathan.”

The girl shook her head, snatching her hand back from him. “No. _Never_. I’m staying with Dad and Joyce, their my family.”

After the previous year, she couldn’t fathom the thought of leaving her family one day. To leave Joyce and Will. To leave Steve, Robin, and Max. Leaving her dad….

Just the thought of leaving her dad made her head swim and her breath quicken.

“They’ll always be your family,” he said with a huff, El catching the slightest hint of an eyeroll. “But I can be your family too.”

Lips pinched, she turned away from him, and started to hike back where they came. “I want to go home,” she declared, picking up her pace.

“Come on, El!” she heard him call out behind her. “We still have more of the trail!”

“I’m going home!” she repeated, only this time with more defiance.

Yes…she loved Mike. El would always love Mike.

But she wasn’t too sure if she’d ever love him enough to leave the only family she’d ever known.

* * *

“Ah, the dreaded Christmas Eve-Eve shift,” the young woman in the desk across from Steve declared. Pushing up her glasses, she observed him with calculating dark brown eyes. “Tell me Harrington, how’d you end up here? I thought you had an in with the Chief?”

Lifting his eyes from the comic book he’d been reading—a copy of the latest _Wonder Woman_ (He assumed Max must have slipped it in his bag before he went to the station)— Steve glared his unfortunate station ‘buddy’.

Nicole Watson-Flores.

A former classmate he never bothered communicating with until she started training to be Flo’s replacement back in October. Now he had the privilege of sitting across from her during ever single fucking shift. Her sarcasm was anything but charming, a little too witty of his tastes if he were to be perfectly honest. When she wasn’t organizing files or handling calls, her nose was in a book. Always reading, always pestering, always question his qualifications.

Well goddamn it, not all of them could get accepted into freaking Harvard only to not go away like they’d always gloated they would.

However, on most days he did find himself staring at the girl more often than not.

“ _Mooning,” Dustin declared, “You’re mooning after a nerd-girl. Who would’ve thought.”_

_“Shut up,” Steve would grumble, still picking up a shift here and there at the video store. Usually just to work along side Robin, who quickly moved up to assistant manager over the span of a few months._

_“The kids has a point,” Robin interjected, leaning against the counter, eating_ Red Vines _from the sales floor. “Mooning I believe is an adequate term. Which is understandable, considering she is good looking in a previous loner, now nerd way.”_

_“I’m pretty sure she was always a nerd,” Steve argued, “I think I copied off her Bio quizzes.”_

_“Classy Harrington, classy.” Robin applauded, Dustin joining in on the fun half a second later._

_Naturally, Steve flipped them both off._

Consumed with his relationship with Nancy and quarrels of popularity, Steve never really spared a glance at other girls. Sure he knew Nicole—well, _Flores,_ he always called her Flores in his head growing up. Watson just was too stiff and Watson-Flores was such a mouthful—and saw her around school. Maybe was partners with her for a project or two receiving a harsh, ‘ _I got this. Don’t want your sorry ass brains to inflict stupidity on my paper_.’ And maybe he was slightly annoyed with her whenever she answered all the questions in class, like some child genius. Or how her hair was a massive wave of bouncy dark curls she needed to cut, but never did and looked like a metal head for the better part of Senior year. Thankfully, she chopped it all off…though now it was short and curly, complimenting her bone structure—

Okay, maybe he _did_ notice her and simply chose not to because Flores knew how to get under his skin.

“Just because I have an in with the Chief, as you like to say, I do still get the shitty shifts. Just like you,” he beamed back at her mockingly.

Unamused, Nicole rolled her eyes and picked back up her copy of _A Christmas Carol_. Her eyes read the same page over for a few seconds before setting the book back down and facing him. “Any plans for the holidays?”

“Why so chatty Flores?” he shot back.

“Just answer the damn question, Harrington.”

He thought the questions over for a moment. For the first time in a couple years, he’d actually be spending the holidays with family—his chosen family. His parents would spend Christmas with him as a kid, but once he hit middle school, his Christmases were spent with a family friend or with the nanny.

But now he got to spend the day with some shitheads he cared about.

What a change.

“Staying home.”

“Your parents are in town?”

“No, with the Hoppers,” he corrected, flicking the page. His eyes darted up from the page, “Why?”

At his question, Nicole squirmed. “Just…wondering. I thought maybe you would have taken the Christmas Eve shift tomorrow.” Her voice was quiet, the lowest it had been since he met her—she wasn’t the best with understand the power of her voice, speaking too loud at times by accident. She just go excited over the stupidest shit…like finding out there would be a major bookstore opening in town soon.

But this time she actually seemed a little… _sad_.

Not annoyed, or frustrated.

Just sad.

“Did you take the Christmas Eve shift?”

“Uh,” she scratched the back of neck, shrugging sharply, “Not…not yet. Flo said I didn’t have to, that she’d be here…but you know an extra set of hands never did any harm.”

“What about your family?” he found himself asking.

“My family?” she echoed back, pointing to herself. “Um…I think my dad is having something with his family and my mom went over to her sister’s yesterday, and she’ll be there until after the New Year.”

“So…who are you spending it with?”

“Just me,” she answered with a forced smile. “It’s fine.” Her eyes spoke otherwise. “I’ve spent the holidays by myself before. It’s nothing new,” she attempted to assure him, picking up a random file and diving head first into work on possibly one of the slowest days in existence at the station.

“You can always join the Hoppers for Christmas,” Steve said slow, hoping she’d miss understand him.

She didn’t. “What? I can’t intrude—”

“They are a ‘more the merrier’ type of family,” he said, not entirely sure if it was true, only making assumptions on the Chief and Joyce. “They wouldn’t turn you away…plus the Chief knows you.”

“As Mini-Flo,” she remarked dryly, “he doesn’t even know my name.”

“He does,” he rolled his eyes, “That’s just how Hopper is…he honestly knows who you are is glad to have you at the station.”

“Still I don’t—”

“My god Nicole, just say yes—they honestly won’t mind, and I’ll just say I invited you,” he grumbled heatedly, flicking the next page harder than necessary.

“Fine, okay! I’ll go,” she agreed with a huff. “No need to get your panties in a twist.”

Not caring if someone walked in, Steven flipped her off.

“Oh, fuck off Harrington.”

He hid his smirk behind the comic book, hoping Nicole didn’t notice.

* * *

“So I have reviewed your blood work and it looks like what I figured it’d be,” Dr. Schmidt declared as he shut the door. Nothing of the physicians demeanor gave away her results, though his natural easy going attitude gave her hope.

“Menopause?” Joyce asked, feeling premature relief.

Dr. Schmidt’s simple grin froze, understand donning in his sympathetic eyes. “No—quite the opposite. You’re pregnant.”

“ _What_?”

“Almost two months along, give or take a week or two.”

She waved him to stop, “How-how did this happen? I’m in my forties. I thought I’d been in menopause.”

“It happens more often than not,” Dr. Schmidt explain patiently, “women think they are experiencing menopause, but instead are having a late pregnancy.”

“Um… I think I need a moment,” she muttered.

“I’ll come back in a few to discuss when we can schedule appointments; take your time,” the doctor said quietly, exiting the room.

Dropping her head into her hands, Joyce huffed. She thought she’d be done having kids, with Jonathan and Will, already practically grown up. And Jim had El…she didn’t even know how’d he feel about another, especially with Sara’s passing leaving a deep scar in him.

Not to mention, she already had other kids in the house…

“I’ll…just keep to myself for a while,” she decided, speaking to herself in the tiny examination room. “Just keep it to myself until the holidays are over.”

* * *

“Maxine—I told you we were going,” her mother called out from the living room, “Come sweetie, we don’t want to be late for our reservation.”

After a rough couple of years, her mom and step-dad set out to spend holidays out of town, in hope the pain of Billy’s death would fade if they weren’t surrounded by other families.

Max understood the logic behind it, but that didn’t mean she agreed with her mother’s running away tactics.

Taking a deep breath, Max slung her backpack over her shoulder and lugged her duffle over the other.

All she needed to do was say she had plans with her friends and dash off before her step-dad noticed.

Simple.

Easy.

Opening the door, she forced a smile to her mom, glad to see her step-dad wasn’t there. “Um, not going—I have plans,” she announced to her, ignoring the flash of hurt on her mom’s face.

“Maxine, you can’t just—”

“I already promised my friends I’d be there,” Max brushed past her mom, heading straight to the front door, “I’ll call you on Christmas.”

“But we are supposed to spend it together,” her mom reminded her, a faint tremble in her voice.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Max swallowed down the pain her throat. Instead of responding back, she opened the door and left. She didn’t look back, ignoring the calls for her to come back, or the pleading shouts for understanding.

Max just continued to march straight ahead, grabbing her bike from the lawn. Climbing on, she peddled as fast she could without skidding off the slick road. She knew the way to the Hopper-Byers house well, the path ingrained in her memory since her first trip.

As she biked, she saw her step-dad’s car speed by, heading to the house.

Still, she didn’t glance back.

It was easier to leave when she didn’t have her mother’s expression of betrayal locked in her memory.

* * *

“Wow, it actually looks pretty cool,” Robin complimented, admiring Will and Hopper’s handiwork.

The previously bare Christmas tree was now decked out with glass and handmade ornaments, an eclectic mix of both the Hopper and Byer’s family. A wholesome sight to wake up to in the afternoon after a shitty night and morning.

Grinning, she pointed to the star at the top of the tree. “I especially like that star—paper mâché?” she asked the boy knowingly.

Bashful, Will nodded. “Yeah, I made it a few years back.” He rummaged through the box before him, pulling out an old clay ornament. It read ‘Baby’s First Christmas’ in painted cursive, the name ‘Will’ etched under it. Carefully, he placed it on a middle branch.

“I dig it,” she praised, ruffling his hair. Over the last few months since living with the Hopper-Byers, Robin formed a buddying bond with the kid. Both were a little on the weird side and she had the heart to humor him and participate in a D and D campaign when he so desired. Likewise, he listened like a sponge when she rambled about linguistics, her interest in languages spiking after the fateful summer of ’85. Robin valued their little friendship, knowing Will needed all the love he could get after everything he went through, and she was willing to give her time wholeheartedly.

“Are you going to your parents tomorrow?” Will asked quietly as he closed up the empty box.

At a loss for a decent answer, Robin shrugged. “Maybe. I haven’t decided yet,” she replied honestly.

Last time she spoke to her parents had been a month ago. She called to speak with her Nana to wish her happy birthday. The conversation ended with a snippy argument and no greetings to Nana despite Robin’s best efforts.

She wondered if visiting would ultimately make things worse or better.

Needless to say, she didn’t want to find out.

“Speaking of parents,” Robin glanced around the room, “where’s Hopper? I thought he was helping you.”

“He was, but El came back home upset,” Will said with a small huff, before shrugging it off. “But we got most of the tree done together.” He peered up at the tree once more, eyes alight at the sight of it fully decorated. “And it was kind of fun to hang out with him. Sometimes I forget he isn’t all grumpy and protective all the time…that he’s kind of dork,” he huffed a laugh, eyes crinkling with mirth, “and _terrible_ dancer.”

Robin chuckled at the comment, helping Will gather the remaining boxes from around the tree. “Of course he’s a dork, Will,” she said with a teasing eyeroll, “he had to be a _little bit_ of one if your mom fell for him.”

Will shrugged reluctantly in agreement, leading the way down the hall to the storage closet. “Yeah, I guess. I just never thought much of it until now.” He swung open the closet door, stuffing the empty box into the already overpacked space. Passing over the other box to Will, Robin stepped back to let him shove and push the box through old dresses and coats. His efforts were met with no avail. “Ugh, we have no room here.”

Well, that was the understatement of the century.

Space in the house was becoming increasing difficult to come by as more additions came to take residence. She and Steve were tripping over each other in their shared room, though neither entertained the thought of leaving for too long. Rent was practically non-existent and there was something comforting about coming back after a long day to see the faces of people she cared about and who cared for her in return.

But the lack of room was undeniable.

And sharing a bathroom with five other people was a form of hell she never knew existed.

Yet, to leave felt _wrong_.

“Just throw it into my room for now,” Robin suggested, taking the box from Will before he dented it even more. “We can get it later if we need to.”

* * *

If there was one thing Jim learned over the last couple of years, it was teens were overdramatic.

Breaking up, making up. Someone didn’t call at this exact time or say the right thing, alright then it is _over_. Only to get back together in less than a couple of days for the cycle to start all over again.

He is pretty sure Mike and El have broken up at least seven times since they started ‘dating’.

But somehow hearing the soft hiccups and sniffles on the other side of the door told Jim this was different than a mere ‘break-up’.

And he was going kick that Wheeler kid’s ass if it was any of his immediate doing.

“El,” he knocked on the door lightly, “It’s your old man.”

Another loud sniffle echoed from the other side, Jim tensing at the sound.

He knocked again. “Come on, kiddo. I know you are in there.”

When she didn’t answer for the second time, he tried the door.

To his shock, it was unlocked. “I’m coming in now or forever hold your peace…” he taunted. Gradually he inched the door open. There on her bed, curled up into a little ball, was El—eyes screwed shut and lips in a wobbly line of poorly held back tears. Her coat and shoes were discarded on the floor of her room, shucked off in a hurry to climb into her cozy bed.

She didn’t yell at him or slam the door in his face, Jim taking her silence as an offer to come in.

Closing the door behind him, he walked over to her bed and sat on the edge. His weight caused the mattress to dip to one side, El scooting closer to him at the shift. Resting a hand on the top her head, he brushed her curls away from his face and bopped the tip of her nose.

Her lips twitched at the gesture.

“Why the long face, kid?”

Wiping her face with her sleeve, El peeked back up at him miserably. “I won’t ever have to leave will I?”

Jim’s eyes narrowed at the question, ignoring the faint sting in his chest at the thought of his daughter leaving. “El, sweetheart, of course not.” He ruffled her hair a bit, feeling her curl more to him, as though she were afraid he’s get up and leave. His voice became tight and stern with anger, unhappy this conversation was even happening in the first place. It took months to convince El she belonged with him, for him to her guardian and ultimately her father. To have it unravel because someone told her she’d have to leave home. “Who said you have to leave?”

Instead of answering the question, she asked, “But doesn’t everyone leave home when they get older?”

A heavy sigh escaped him, his shoulders sagging. “Some do, some don’t. There is nothing wrong with either.”

“Are you sure?” Her voice was small, her hand grasping his in fear.

“Yes, I am,” he said with confidence. “If you want to leave, you can leave. But you will never be forced to—this is your home, El. Filled with people who love you very much,” he said, for once taking Joyce’s advice and speaking with his heart. He needed to—his little girl needed to know she would always have a home with him. “That’s never going to change.”

A relieved smile bloomed on her face, El sitting up and wrapping him in a big hug.

“Thanks, Dad,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “I love you.”

Pressing his cheek to the top of her head, Jim hummed in agreement. “Love ya too, squirt.”

* * *

Driving down the long strip back to her house, Joyce noticed a lone figure bicycling along the side of the road.

The kid’s fiery red hair was a dead giveaway.

“Max! What are you doing biking in this weather?” Joyce called out from her window as she rolled slowly beside the girl.

Glancing over to the car, Max’s eyes widened, she almost losing her balance before focusing back on her task. “I’m going over to your place!” she shouted back, rolling her shoulders.

“Why didn’t you call?” Joyce asked, fearing the answer. “We have enough people in the house, someone would have been happy to pick you up.”

The girl seemed skittish at the remark, not an unusual sight. She glanced back at Joyce licking her lips from the biting wind. “I didn’t want to bother. Plus I know the way,” she settled on answering.

Despite the talk in the town on her mental state, Joyce wasn’t an idiot.

Neither was Hopper.

They knew why Max spent the night at their house nearly every night. Why the girl would prefer to spend her days doing miscellaneous chores around the house to prolong her stays than go back to her own parents. Or how she’d come with a packed bag, a few days’ worth of clothes and belongings stuffed to the brim for an apparent ‘sleep over’.

She never had injuries or bruises, but Joyce recognized the fear in Max’s blue eyes.

Because Joyce saw it in her own boys’ eyes when Lonnie was around.

So she and Hop never said anything and just let the girl stay as long as she wanted. No questions, no probing. Just an open door policy.

But if Max ever did come back with bruises or injuries, or decided to confess what she saw, Hopper was ready to jump into action, dragging Steve along for the ride to put a stop to whatever hell was going on back in the Mayfield home.

However Joyce felt a little dumb for not realizing Max would inevitably join them for the winter holidays. It should have been unspoken.

“Well, stick your bike in the back,” Joyce ordered, unlocking the car, “and get in before it starts to snow again.”

Without a fight, Max hopped off her bike and listened. Once the girl had thrown her belongings in the back of the car, she sat in the passenger seat.

“Uh, thanks Joyce,” she mumbled, buckling herself up.

Patting Max’s wind mused hair down, she smiled warmly at the girl before putting both her hands back on the wheel. “Of course, sweetie. Any time.”

* * *

“Mike! Can you please get more chairs from the living room?” Joyce called out as she heard the back door open and close. “Jonathan and Nancy should be here any minute for dinner and we only have enough seats for the few of us!”

The sixteen year old huffed but listened, dashing off to the living room without taking off his coat or shoes.

Beside her, Will rolled his eyes. “I swear he gets grumpier every day,” the boy grumbled.

“I can say the same for you, honey,” Joyce reminded him, as she checked the steaming vegetables. Satisfied with their firmness, she closed the lid. “Make sure to make a plate for Steve—he’ll be coming late from work,” she reminded her son as she dried off her hands.

He nodded, already halfway through the task.

Leaving the kitchen in his capable hand, Joyce went about checking the rest of the house for any other lingering chaos. This was the first time in months her eldest would be coming back home since he left for school. He and Nancy had been in Chicago for months, both working and at attending college, leaving little time for them to escape for a visit.

Well until now.

Passing by the dinning room, she saw the girls—El, Max, and Robin—setting up the table between fits of giggles and chatting. However El and Max fell inconspicuously silent as Mike passed by, Robin simply rolling her eyes at the clear divide.

Meanwhile, Jim was throwing more wood into the fireplace, watching as the logs burned together. His lips were pressed together, an obvious brooding weighing into his brows and shoulders.

Something set Jim Hopper off and naturally, he closed himself off to prevent any unnecessary outbursts.

Maybe is was a good thing she kept her latest development to herself for now. A moody Hop was never the best version to share some life altering news with.

Coming up beside him, Joyce nudged his side. “Penny for your thoughts?”

He grunted, poking at the wood. Little sparks of fire danced in the air before fading into nothing.

“Wanting to leave home is normal, right?” he mumbled, glancing over at Joyce briefly, “Because I remember I wanted to get the hell out of my parents house when I was kid. I thought every kid did…”

Joyce snorted, leaning into him. “Yeah, it’s pretty normal, no matter how good your relationship is with your parents. I mean, look at Jonathan,” she said with a small shrug. “It’s just how life works sometimes.”

“How about never wanting to leave home?” he countered quickly. “Is that normal for kids?”

Her mind briefly flashed to Will; he didn’t seem like someone who’d be interested in ever leaving home. “I suppose it can be—why?”

A sharp knock from the front door halted their conversation, Joyce breaking away from him to answer it.

“I got it!” she shouted back to the rest of the house, hearing a chorus of ‘okay’s and ‘cool’s from the kids.

Swinging open the door, she felt her chest beating excitedly at the thought of seeing her son after all this time.

However, she felt the world stumble to a stop at the sight of them—

“ _Surprise_!” Jonathan and Nancy announced together, the latter holding her protruding abdomen with a gentle hand.

 _Her protruding abdomen_.

Meaning—

“Ah—yes! Ah,” Joyce struggled to get the words out, “ _Hi_!” she finally mustered, if not a little frantic.

She felt Jim come to the door rather than seeing him, he having a less than stellar greeting as well.

“Oh—you’re um,” her husband stuttered, a half chuckle of his own shock escaping him. “ _Wow_! It’s nice to see you two.”

Nancy and Jonathan shared a glance, both their forced smiles drooping away. “Yez, I’m pregnant, hence the 'surprise'—you can say it,” the young woman announced with a bite to her tone. Jonathan ducked his head apologetically to everyone surrounding him, wanting a hole to swallow him up.

 _My god_ —she and Jim were the worst weren’t they?

“Why don’t you come in,” Joyce moved to the side, shoving Jim to do the same.

The young couple smiled politely as they entered the house, Jonathan following Nancy with their bags. Right—they needed to solve that situation as soon as possible too, considering Jonathan didn’t necessarily have a room anymore.

Closing the door, Jim leaned towards Joyce, muttering, “So much for not wanting to be a grandma…”

“No shit, Jim.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL THEN. 
> 
> THAT WAS A SURPRISE!
> 
> Two babies on the way....ekkkk.
> 
> And poor, sweet El. I think once Hopper comes back, she'd have a difficult time with the concept of ever leaving her family, even if it was to be with Mike.
> 
> Also, an OC was introduced! Now Nicole is not a new OC, she actually is the same Nicole I wrote about in my Steve/OC fic (you can find it in my works). I love her so much, I had to pull her into this chaos. She doesn't take any of Steve's shit but is quite a lonely person. She's got lots of flaws, but she is my baby :)
> 
> And I know all of you want Max to officially move in already! But you know what they say...save the best for last ; )
> 
> We'll get the Christmas chapter next update!
> 
> Let me know what you think! Comments and kudos are always appreciated; love discussing the fic with readers:D


	5. Interlude: Christmas Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um so....this is REALLY LONG. Like 8k words long. 
> 
> So yeah.
> 
> Typos will be fixed later.
> 
> Enjoy :)

* * *

“We only have four rooms.”

“I feel like we are having this conversation every other week.”

Echoing exhausted sighs, couple laid side by side in bed. Dinner was long and excruciating. Introductions and explanations were given, the Wheeler siblings both oddly out of the loop with each other’s lives. Nancy had no idea her brother no longer lived at home—or at least for the time being wasn’t living at home. Based on his reaction of slacked jaw and horrified eyes, Mike did not know his sister was pregnant. Their heated exchange of words left an awkward air around the dinner table.

Then there was problem of Jonathan’s room.

The problem meaning, he no longer had one considering two of the newest residents—Steve and Robin—were occupying it now. Of course the duo were kind enough to offer the room to Jonathan and Nancy for the night, opting to camp out in the living room.

The question of if they were going to remain in the house permanently stood unanswered. Joyce was too nervous to ask any further, not wanting to pressure the young couple about their plans.

Which led to Joyce and Jim’s apparently _never ending_ conversation about rooms.

“We have four rooms.”

“You already said that,” Joyce mumbled into her pillow, turning to her side to face Jim. “I am highly aware how much room we have in this house.”

“We just fucking got this house,” he groaned, lulling his head in her direction. “We are not moving. I’m not going to deal with that again and putting the house on the market…” a low sound of distress came from the back of his throat. “We are staying _here_.”

She lifted her head, peering down at him in with a mix of confusion and impending sleep. “How we are going to do that?”

“We’ll make room.”

“ _Make room_?” she repeated back, quirking an eyebrow at him. Even in the dim midnight moonlight, Jim could feel her imploring facial expressions. “And where are we going to find this elusive _room_? Mike and Will are already sharing, then we got El in that little room down the hall. Robin and Steve are practically tripping over each other in the downstairs and we’re in here—there is no room, Hop!”

“We’ll make it work,” he declared, his words heavy and drawn out. Gently, he pulled her back down to lay beside him. “I mean…we don’t even know if they would want to move in. Maybe Nancy wants to live with _her_ mom.”

Silence fell over the two, Joyce staring back at Jim in disbelief.

His joking grin however told her the level of his seriousness.

Lightly slapping his chest with a chuckled, she slipped closer to him under the covers.

They’d figure it out. Like Jim said, they didn’t even know if Jonathan and Nancy wanted to live with them.

Why worry over what may be nothing?

* * *

“Wow, you invited her over to meet the parents,” Robin teased, propping her chin up with the cushion. “Should I be calling her Nicole Watson-Flores- _Harrington_ in the near future?”

“No,” Steve grumbled, tossing away from her, “that sounds like a stupid name. Who has three last names?”

“Hmm, you’re right,” she mused, flopping back down on the floor, schooling her features, “Nicole would probably keep her name— _you_ on the other hand will become Mr. Steve Watson-Flores—”

“It would just be Flores because that is her dad’s surname, genius.”

“Oh, so you _have_ thought about it!” Robin cried out in a hush, sitting back up from their poorly made bed on the floor. Cushions and pillows were only so comfortable after a few moments, Steve and Robin practically forgoing slumber in exchange for conversation.

“No, I haven’t!”

“Yes, you have,” she gasped out, breaking into silent laughter.

Rolling his eyes, Steve wacked her with his pillow. “Oh shut up, it’s not like that. She just doesn’t have anyone to spend the holidays with,” he explained with a grumbled. “Thought Joyce and Hopper wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh…that’s sad,” she mumbled, mulling over the revelation.

“Yeah, she looked like a kicked puppy. Like kicked beagle, with the big eyes and all.”

“Well then that’s nice of you to invite her,” she praised, knocking her shoulder into his. “I’m sure Nicole and I will have _plenty_ to talk about. It takes a special person to work alongside _the_ Steve Harrington and live to see another day.”

“Yeah,” he said with a faint smile, hiding it before Robin could tease him again. He then glanced at her, a knowing edge in his eyes. “How about you—did you finally ask—”

“ _No_ ,” she barreled in before he could finish the question. “Of course not. I mean come on. Think a little, Steve.”

He sighed tiredly. “But you’ll never know unless you ask—”

“I highly doubt it, so shut up,” Robin said with little room for argument, all jokes in her gone.

With a huff, Robin flopped the other way, facing the Christmas tree instead of Steve. Unfortunately, she took his pillow with him, wrapping around it like a monkey.

Of course he said the wrong damn thing. He was just tired of seeing his best friend pine over the same silly girl day in and day out, when they were both obviously giving each other _the eyes_.

Change of topic was of the essence.

“It’s weird…seeing Nancy,” he confessed quietly, moving his head closer to Robin’s pillow.

Curious, Robin peeked at him over her shoulder, her eyebrows furrowed. “I thought you were over her.”

“I am.”

“Then…?”

“She’s gonna have a baby,” he whispered, “a _baby_. As in those squishy looking things that cry all the time and puke.”

In an instant, Robin flopped back over, facing him once more. She hugged one end of the pillow close, offering him the other side to hold. “Yeah, but it’s not like she planned for the thing…” a flash of pity came over her, “she looks miserable.”

“I know,” he mumbled. “It’s just is weird ya know…because I dated her and I never thought in a million years of her being like…a _mom_.”

“It happens,” Robin shrugged, “people grow up.”

Steve blinked, frowning. “What about us? Are we growing up too slow—too fast?”

“I think…we are exactly where we are supposed to be.” Her measured response did little to reassure him. Reaching across the pillow, she grasped his hand. “Dude, our lives can go to shit, but we still got each other, alright?”

He smirked, holding her hand back. “Alright,” he said with an eyeroll. “Your hands are sweaty, by the way—”

“Ugh,” Robin released his hand with a scoff. “Screw you,” she mumbled halfheartedly, snuggling closer into the blankets. “My hands are perfectly wonderful, thank you very much.”

With those words, Steve allowed himself to fall asleep, knowing he wasn’t alone.

* * *

“Oh sweetie, you didn’t have to do this,” Joyce cried out. Upon entering the kitchen that morning she found Jonathan at work, whisking pancake batter and an array of other breakfast foods at various stages of completion. “I was going to make something.”

“Don’t worry about it—I’m happy to make breakfast,” her eldest insisted, handing off the bowl of batter to his reluctant sous-chef, Steve. The young man frowned at the bowl, stirring its contents with a quarter of the same urgency as Jonathan. Joyce had learned the hard way Steve wasn’t the best cook…but he tried and knew how to boil an egg. She couldn’t ask for more to be perfectly honest. “I kind of miss it.”

“You don’t cook back in Chicago?” Joyce asked surprised. While cooking wasn’t his passion per say, he enjoyed making food. It allowed him to relax, do something methodical.

“Eh…not enough time,” he answered vaguely. He then turned to his two other assistants, El and Max. The former struggled to turn over the sausage, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she attempted to do so. Max on the other hand stirred the pot of thick gravy with skilled practice. “Be careful El, you got it,” Jonathan assured her quickly, helping guide her hand as she turned the meat over.

Glancing over to the rest of kitchen and dinning table, she noticed Jonathan some how got the rest of the house to work as well. In the corner of the kitchen, Robin was measuring the right amount of coffee grains for a fresh pot, while Mike stood beside her and watched the biscuits in the oven like hawk. Meanwhile, Will sat with Nancy at the kitchen table, buttering the bread as it popped out of the toaster.

Yes, it was over crowded in the room, the kids bumping into each other and grumbling in their half awake status.

But it was sweet to see them all working together…like a team.

Like a family.

“Mom…are you okay?” El asked, startling Joyce. “Your face is wet.”

“Yeah,” Joyce stuttered, wiping under her eyes, “of course, I’m okay. Yeah,” she breathed out, blinking through more tears. She could feel the rest of the kids looking at her. “I’m going to go use the restroom—keep doing what you’re doing,” she waved them off, heading to the downstairs bathroom.

Stepping into the compact space, Joyce shut the door and plopped herself down on the closed toilet. The tears kept flowing as the image of all the kids together ran through her mind. Frantically she pulled at the toilet paper, bunching up wads. She cleaned her face blindly, hoping the kid wouldn’t think too much of it.

As she blew her nose, a knock sounded from the door. “Um…Joyce?” Steve’s voice came from the other side. “Are…are you good in there? You kind of ran off.”

Standing up, she opened the door, giving the young man a forced smile. “I’m fine,” she assured him, feeling the water works again, “it’s just really nice to see you all together.”

“Uh—okay...” Steve patted her arm, startled when Joyce wrapped him in a big hug. Locked in the embrace and at a loss over what to do about the crying woman in his arms, Steve resorted to just hugging back until she was ready to let go. “There, there Joyce,” he said stiltedly. “All will be okay.”

Neither really believed his words.

* * *

“Can I go with you?” El asked Jim as he started getting ready to leave for his shift at the station. He was taking a half day for the holiday, someone needing to be around to handle any issues that may arise. Normally the worst was petty theft and break-ins with little mess but a whole lot of mouthy residents.

Shrugging on his jacket, Jim paused, considering his daughter’s words.

El was never one to enjoy the station. Sure, she liked to sit around and talk to Steve and Nicole when they were on shift…but other than that, the kid was bored out of her mind on most days.

So to hear she wanted to willingly go to the station, on Christmas Eve of all days, was a little concerning.

While waiting for his response, her eyes flickered to Mike, the boy sitting with his sister in the living room.

Ah.

Now that made sense. His girl was avoiding the Wheeler kid.

And Jim wasn’t one to say no to that.

“I’m leaving in a few minutes, be ready and outside by then,” Jim ordered her, El scurrying off before he even finished his sentence.

Shaking his head, Jim popped his head into the kitchen to see his wife help clean up the kitchen area as some of the kids finished up their breakfast. He’d been able to grab a quick bite and his first cup of coffee of the day— _“Coffee and contemplation, right Chief?” Robin called out, holding her mug out for a dinking. Jim humored her, knowing how attached she became to the sentiment_ —before he finished getting ready for work.

For a moment, he let himself just look at her…watch her from afar as she moved about the room with an laxed ease in her shoulders. For once, his wife’s hair was pulled away from her face in a low ponytail, he able to see her ever expressive face. Joyce—the ever open book—allowed for her emotions to flow freely, her endearment for the those surrounding her radiating in every quirk of her lips.

He took advantage of such moments and locked the memory of them away for safe keeping.

Finally noticing him, Joyce paused in the middle of her washing. Raising her eyebrows, she shot him a confused frown. “I didn’t see you there. Need anything?”

“Ah, nothing,” Jim said with a hum, leaning against the doorframe. “Just like looking at you.”

She rolled her eyes at the remark, though it did not stop the embarrassed flush across her cheeks and the faint sputtering she attempted to hide by going back to the dishes.

He smirked at the sight, rapping his hand on the side paneling. “El’s going to be tagging along to the station today, so if you are missing one in a head count later, that is to blame.”

Joyce halted her movements, sending her husband a dubious glance. “ _El_ is going to the station?”

She was aware of the situation, he telling her about their daughters sudden fear of being forced to leave the house. El remained closed off on the matter with anyone else except for Jim, her tagging along a blessing in disguise.

“Can I go to the station?” Will interjected, gaining the attention of the couple.

Before Jim could blunder a response, Joyce intercepted with an apologetic tsk. “No can do—you and I are going the spend the day together. Got some presents I need help to finish wrapping and I need my craftiest wrapper to help me.”

The boy sighed but didn’t argue, Jim sending Joyce a grateful glance.

Just then El came rushing down the stairs, past the group and out the door in a flurry. Their daughter clearly wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries.

Wincing, Joyce looked over at him apologetically before blowing him a small kiss.

And like the fool he was, he caught the kiss when no one was watching, a string of giggles erupting from his wife.

Calling out one more goodbye to the rest the house, several voice echoing back, Jim left the house. Frigid air hit his face immediately, he zipping up his jacket higher.

There leaning against his truck was El, a petulant frown on her face.

“Let’s go, kid,” he announced, unlocking the door for her before climbing into the driver’s seat. She followed suit, sliding into the seat with ease, and buckling up. As he pulled out from the gravel driveway, she fiddled with the radio, finding a station with the damn song _Last Christmas._ Before a groan of disapproval came from him, El switched the music to another station where the sound Pet Shop Boy’s, _West End Girls_ came through the speakers instead.

Not perfect. But better.

If not a little odd, since she wouldn’t shut up about _Last Christmas_ just a few days ago.

Stubbornly she looked out the window, shoving her deerstalker further down her head, in an effort to keep warm.

Her weary face told Jim she was still thinking about their conversation, or whatever spurred their conversation. All too often, his daughter wore her emotions on her sleeve, unable to hide anything from him.

Not that she ever truly did, confessing whatever was on her mind within a few days’ time.

So Jim played the game, letting her wallow and sigh dramatically until she finally fessed up what caused her sudden fear of leaving. And maybe he’d try his best to make her forget about it all for a little while, distract her as best he could.

Soon, their rather silent fifteen minute drive came to a close as he rolled up to the station, El prepared to hop out before the car even stopped.

“Hey,” Jim called out before she could swing the door open, “why the long face? You’re spending the day with your old man—that’s got to be a little exciting.”

Her closed mouth half smile lifted his spirits a little.

“Yeah…” she shrugged, “A little exciting.”

“When was the last time we did anything just us?” Jim asked, unbuckling his seat belt and opening the door.

El doing the same, hopped out of the car to meet him on the other side. “Sixty-four days,” she answered seriously.

Well, damn. He didn’t think she kept count.

“Then we are long over do for this day.”

Taking his hand, like she was that small ten year old again, she let him lead the way into the station.

Upon entering, Flo gave him a small wave and a stack of paperwork. “Got it get done before the New Year Chief, or well have the county breathing down our necks.”

He grunted dejectedly at the weight and thickness of the stack, but tucked it under his arm nonetheless.

His secretary’s eyes then landed on El, perking up a little. “Why isn’t it little Miss Hopper, I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages!”

A small gasp then came from the work table behind Flo, their secretary-in-training Nicole lighting up at the sight of his daughter. “El, I didn’t know you were going to be here. We’ve missed you.”

“I thought you weren’t coming in today,” Jim asked, eyes narrowing at the young woman. Steve had all but blundered and stuttered when he mentioned he invited the little secretary over for Christmas Eve festivities.

Nicole’s eyes widen a fraction, however she remained cool as she so often did around the office. Calculated and sharp, the only time Jim ever seen her let loose a little was when Steve was in and those days usually involved far more arguing than anyone had the pleasure of hearing.

“Just clocking a couple of early hours, nothing major. Just because it is a holiday doesn’t mean the work ever stops,” she declared easily, unbothered by being at the station. Part of Jim was disappointed to learn the woman only seemed to desire to be an office worker than join the field. She would have made a decent detective.

Jim nodded at her, before nudging at El to head on into his office.

“Steve likes her,” El announced once they were in the office. “He has. For a long time.”

“What?” Jim blinked down at his daughter, surprised. “They argue all the time.”

“He likes her,” she said, her tone firm. A shadow of disappointment then crossed her face. “They’ll fall in love and then he’ll move out won’t he?”

Okay— _what_? “No El, I don’t know…” he shook his head startled by the statement. “Steve isn’t moving out any time soon,” he assured her, taking a seat at his desk.

Sighing deeply, she sat in the seat across from him. “But everyone will leave at some point, won’t they?”

Staring down at the paperwork before, Jim contemplated the question. “Yeah…maybe. But no one is leaving right now and I don’t think you need to worry about Steve or him falling in love with Nicole and moving out.” He felt absurd even making the comment, but if it meant his daughter was able to forget about the notion of other’s leaving then so be it.

“So would she move in with us? When she and Steve fall in love?” El continued to probe, watching him with curious eyes.

Dropping his pen aside, Jim realized it was stupid of him to think he’d get any work done with El tagging along. “Maybe—sure. If that was even a possibility of happening with them.”

El hummed at the answer, eyebrows furrowing as she fell deep in thought. “So…we can all live together forever if we want?”

“I suppose…” Jim said slowly. “Sweetheart, I know you are scared of leaving home—”

“I’m not scared—”

“ _Okay_ ,” Jim uttered, holding his hands up in defense, “but that doesn’t mean you need to constantly think about it. Or worry about other people leaving or moving.”

“But Mike told me that’s what happens with everyone.”

Of fucking course it was Wheeler.

That explains why it stuck with her, why she freaked out over the thought of leaving, why she was sitting with him now and avoiding her nerdy little boyfriend.

Groaning, Jim scrubbed his face with his palms, already feeling exhausted at nine in the morning.

“Well, Mike doesn’t know everything.”

She glared at him for a moment at the slight, before dropping it and nodding in agreement. At some point while he’d been…incapacitated for a few months…El discovered boys—most of all Mike—were stupid. She found that they were also a bit gross and didn’t quiet understand many things like she did, a revelation Jim was glad she had seemingly on her own.

“He’s stupid. A lot.”

“Right.”

“And we’re not stupid.”

“Exactly.” Jim rubbed his eye lids, peeking at El. The stern down pull of her lips told him she was attempting to believe her words despite not fully understanding. “You also need to remember, he’s going through his own thing too,” he said, hoping he was going about this the way Joyce would want him to—all heart-to-heart. It was easier when it was just his little girl blinking back at him, looking for answers. “And when we are upset about other things…we might say something in a way we don’t really mean.” God knows he did that shit enough times to know the backlash.

“What could he be upset about?”

An innocent question.

An innocent question Jim realized he couldn’t answer until Mike opened up to her.

“I don’t know,” he settled on, dropping his gaze back to the paperwork before him. “But what I do know is I need more coffee, and I am sure Nicole will be happy to help you make a fresh pot.”

Grinning at the thought of seeing her friend El bound out of the room, Jim watching her with a little less weight on his shoulders.

* * *

“Mom is lame if she thinks I don’t know,” Nancy shifted on her spot once more, Mike sticking another pillow behind her back for comfort. “Her avoidance is answer enough.”

The two siblings had been catching up in Steve and Robin’s room—well, Jonathan’s old room. Privacy seemed to be warranted, the two not seeing each other since Nancy left back at the end of July for an internship. Some quality sibling time seemed needed after the previous night filled with awkward pauses.

“Yeah, I guess,” Mike answered vaguely.

Leaning back against the pillows, she rolled her shoulders in an attempt to relax. “Why doesn’t she just tell us? Talk to us like adults.”

“I don’t know.”

“Because we aren’t kids anymore. We can handle being told their marriage is on the rocks. It’s not gonna kills us.”

“Yeah,” Mike shrugged, “But I can see she’s sad…maybe embarrassed.”

“Mike, don’t make excuses for her.”

“I’m not, I’m just…” he huffed, standing up from the edge of the bed, “you just don’t understand because you aren’t here.”

Nancy stared up at him, closing her mouth as the sudden accusation. “I… I know and I am going to try to fix that.” She motioned to her round belly. “It’s not like I can do _this_ off in Chicago.”

“Who says you can’t?” Mike countered.

“My bank account.” Chewing on her bottom lips, she shook her head once. “Is…is it awful to say I don’t want the kid?”

Her quiet confession didn’t surprise Mike. Nancy was never one to want the perfect nuclear family life. She wanted a career; she wanted to write for newspapers and be a star journalist. A baby wasn’t part of the plan.

“No…” he sat back down, sharing a sorry smile with her, “So what are you going to do?”

“What do you mean ‘what am I going to do’? I already made my decision, do you not see me?” Her empty chuckle broke into a watery gasp. “I’m having this kid whether I like it or not.”

He tried not flinch at her words, instead sitting up straighter, at the ready. “I mean are you and Jonathan going to get married or I don’t know…move back?”

“Get married? _No_ ,” she said bluntly, wiping her tears with her fingers. Sucking in air sharply, she stared her brother dead in the eye. “What I’m going to tell you, you can’t tell anyone— _promise_?” she stressed, grasping his hand tightly.

“Promise.”

“Jonathan and I broke up.”

Mike blanched. “ _What_?” he could not help but screech.

Nancy shushed him, batting his arm. “Seriously?”

“Sorry,” he uttered still floored by the news, “I’m just… _why_?”

“A lot of reasons,” she answered less than enthusiastic about the matter, “the main point is, we’re not together anymore, but we have _this_.” She pointed to her belly again. “And we…we don’t know what to do. That’s why we came home.”

“Oh,” Mike blinked, unable to think of an adequate response. “Then—then maybe you should tell someone other than me. Like Joyce or…I don’t know, _Mom_?”

“Can you not be like this right now? I told you so you can be my brother about it, not try and find an answer for me,” she grumbled, tears forming in her eyes again.

“Right, right, sorry,” he muttered.

“Can we talk about anything else except the baby?” she asked, looking anywhere but him. “Like how you are living here without the Chief killing you yet,” she remarked with a coy smirk. “I’m pretty sure you are a living anomaly.”

Rolling his eyes, Mike indulged his sister for once.

* * *

“Are you sure you can do this?” Joyce asked, her car parked a few houses away from the Buckley’s driveway.

After some inner debate, Robin decided to visit her parents for part of Christmas Eve. They were her family and it wasn’t as though she was _kicked out_ per say. More along the lines she _choose_ to leave before there was the potential to be kicked out. So maybe it wouldn’t be a battlefield. Maybe it would be a great time to catch up and draw water under the bridge.

A big misunderstanding on her part.

Maybe their conversation on Nana’s birthday was a due to it being a long day. Not because of…not because of any other reason.

Hopefully.

“Positive,” Robin breathed. “I already called. They are expecting me.”

“Good, good,” Joyce nodded along, glancing back at the girl with hesitance. “You call if you need someone to pick you up, alright? No matter the time, no matter the reason, got it?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Robin’s voice was shaky, but she smiled through it. “I don’t think there is anything to worry about.”

“Okay sweetie,” Joyce brought her in for a quick hug, “I’ll see you later tonight then?”

“Absolutely,” she pulled away, “good luck with Christmas Eve dinner, I think you’ll need it.”

Joyce chuckled, though there was real fear behind her eyes. Everyone was aware of the tension in the house at Jonathan and Nancy’s arrival. Not just between couple, but how the appearance of the couple shifted the equilibrium of the house. In just a night, Will was already forced back to old habits of being babied by his older brother, while Nancy and Mike grumbled to each other like cats and dogs. Then Max was hiding out in El’s room, disinterested with all the arguing going about in the house, while Steve excused himself out of the house right after breakfast. Joyce knew the young man felt uncomfortable with Jonathan and Nancy’s presence, though she could not put her finger on as to why.

Thankful El and Hopper were out of the house or more chaos would have ensued.

Giving her one more wave, Robin left the car, striding fearlessly over to her house in the cul-de-sac.

She would be okay. Joyce had to force herself to believe so.

Though she could not help but feel she just sent her child off to war.

* * *

With great effort, Max mashed the potatoes Jonathan handed off to her.

_Smash. Smash. Smash. Smash._

“Whoa, take it easy there,” Jonathan muttered, placing a hand on elbow. “Don’t want to accidently hit anyone.”

“Right,” she said, slowing her movements.

“That’s better,” he nodded, “you’re pretty good at this cooking thing.”

“Because I like food,” she said ad though it were the obvious, “and when you like food, you _should_ know how to make it yourself.”

Jonathan didn’t argue on the comment, merely nodding along in agreement. Beside him, Mike folded the cheese into the macaroni over and over, his mind else where as he repeated the motion with little vigor. Neither she nor Mike were interested in making Christmas Eve dinner with the eldest Byers, however they were the poor souls who did not think to make themselves scarce when he came looking for helping hands.

Leaving the two to their own devices at the table, Jonathan went off to check on the ham in the kitchen. The moment he was out of an earshot, Max whacked the spoon out of Mike’s hand.

“ _What the hell_?”

“What’d you do to El?” Max hissed, ignoring Mike’s outcry. She snatched the spoon before he could grab it.

“What do you mean?” he grumbled as he tried to get the spoon from her. Yet she held it far out of reach, much to is chagrin.

“She’s sad and mopey,” Max continued, “And she only gets like that when you do stupid shit.”

“I don’t know why she is like that—I don’t even know what I did.” His defense fell upon scrutiny.

“It must have been something. Think _harder_ , Michael.” She enunciated, each word sharp as knives, Mike flinching.

“Uh…,” his face screwed up, “we went on a hike yesterday?”

“ _And_?”

“And…we talked.”

“ _About_?”

“The future,” he huffed, his face burning up, “I just mentioned how excited I am when we get to be on our own, leave this all behind.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She punched him in the shoulder, the spoon in her hand dropping back into the macaroni with a _plop_. Cheese splattered on their shirts though neither cared, as the two glared darkly at each other. “Why would you even do that!”

“What— talk to my girlfriend about the future?”

“No, dipshit, telling her to leave this all behind!” she growled back. “Have you _not_ been around for the last year and half?”

He huffed, running his hands through is hair. “I didn’t mean it like that—I didn’t mean leaving Hawkins, or anything.”

“Ugh! You’re the worst!” In blind anger, she grabbed a fist full of mashed potatoes and chucked it at Mike’s face.

“ _Hey_!” He cried out, mouth a gap. Without thinking, he flung a handful of macaroni at her, the cheese splattering on her neck and hair.

A horrified scoff escaped her, eyes and jaw set for revenge.

“You little shit!”

“You started it!”

And thus a food war began, the mashed potatoes and macaroni ammunition.

* * *

At four-fifteen on the dot, Steve stood outside of Nicole Watson-Flores’ house, just as they agreed to the night before. He was freshly showered and made sure his hair was perfectly coiffed, double checking in the reflection of the window to be sure. His shirt was ironed and tucked, he teased by the kids as he left the house. Naturally, Steve ignored them, telling himself he wasn’t looking nice for Nicole; he was just looking nice for the sake of the holiday. Nothing else.

Nope. Not at all.

But if she said anything, it _would_ be a plus.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked.

Only to be met with silence.

Huffing, he knocked again.

And again, and again.

Silence each time.

Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Steve attempted to not think the worst. Nicole was a smart girl, she wouldn’t let anything happen to her. And she was conscious of her surroundings; if something happened to her or her family she would have said something. Peeking through her windows, he didn’t see any movement inside the house.

Anxiety piking, he went on the move.

Stepping around the house to the backyard garage, Steve’s feet stuttered to a stop at the sight.

Nicole’s car was gone.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Of course she wasn’t there.

And he knew exactly where she’d be.

Going back to his car, Steve drove out to downtown. Parking his car, he hopped out and marched into the station.

“We agreed four-fifteen,” he announced the moment he stepped into the building.

“ _I_ didn’t agree to anything,” Flo countered, staring Steve down from the tops of her glasses.

“Not you Flo,” Steve grumbled, as he moved through the desks in the office. “Nicole.”

The older woman harrumphed, thumping his chest with the stack as she passed by him. “Nice to see you too, Mr. Harrington.”

As he came to his and Nicole’s usual pair of desks, he caught sight of a fresh cup of coffee.

“She’s here.”

“You really are a true detective, Harrington,” Flo commented, flipping through paperwork. “She’s in the Chief’s office—had to get him to sign some forms. You know how awful he is with that stuff.”

Without question he walked back in the opposite direction to the Chief’s office.

Opening the door, he declared once more—“We agreed four-fifteen”—only to be met with a startled El and glaring Hopper.

Well, shit.

“What the hell, Harrington?”

Groaning, Steve hung his head before lifting his gaze back up to the two. “I’m looking for Nicole—I was supposed to pick her up at four-fifteen,” he looked at his wrist-watch, “and it is now almost five.” His eyes then narrowed on the two, he crossing his arms over his chest as he observed them. “Wait, aren’t you two supposed to be at home too? We have dinner in an hour.”

El and Hopper glanced at each other sagely, a silent passing of understanding between the two.

“Steve, if there is one thing you should know, it is El and I are no help when it comes to making dinner.” The Chief leaned back into chair, kicking up his feet on the edge of his desk. “Last time I tried to help, Joyce kicked me out.”

“It was bad,” El said solemnly.

“We just get in the way,” was Hopper’s simple explanation.

Despite his nonchalance, Steve didn’t quite believe the man.

“So you guy are now avoiding it by hanging out here until the last minute,” he asked, unable to hide his disbelief.

Avoiding the question, El looked him up and down with a knowing glint. “You look nice.”

“Thank you,” he nodded towards her, fluffing his hair again. “Thought to dress up…ya know…for the _holiday_ ,” he stressed more than necessary.

The father and daughter shared a glance, Hopper suddenly gruff at El’s seemingly gloating grin.

“Right…” Hopper remarked, unamused. “She went to the restroom. Something about accidentally spilled coffee on herself, I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“Cool, right,” Steve knocked on the doorway, backing out of the room slowly, “I guess I’ll just—” he pointed to down the hall, not liking how Hopper or El stared at him as he attempted to make his leave “—I’ll go.”

Turning on his heel, he left the Chief’s office and beelined to the restrooms at the furthest end of the hall. Stopping in front of the woman’s restroom, he knocked. “Nicole! Hey, Nicole I know you are in there! What happened to four-fifteen. I’ve been to your house, I’ve been here—it’s like a never ending goose chase with you—”

The door swung open, revealing a puffy eyed Nicole. “Will you shut up!” she hissed, ready to close the door on his face.

However Steve was quicker, slipping a fraction of his body into the restroom before she shut it completely. Grumbling, she let him squirm in, before shutting the door fiercely once more.

Leaning against the door, Steve openly stared at her, stunned by her appearance. Her glasses were gone, dangling on the collar of her blouse, showing her tear stained face in all its glory. A large wet blob was on her navy blue, pleated skirt though that seemed to be the least of her worries, Nicole not one to cry over spilled coffee.

Exhaling, she pressed her palms to her face as she sat back down on the closed toilet.

What was it with him dealing with crying women in bathrooms today?

“What do you want, Steve?” she asked tiredly, wiping under her eyes. Dark make-up covered her fingers, her eyeliner and mascara smeared.

Pathetically, he answered. “We were supposed to meet at four-fifteen.”

A watery chuckle left her, before an ugly frown twisted her features. “I thought with me not being home, you’d get the message Steve! I don’t want to go with you and Hoppers and be all happy go-lucky tonight,” she swallowed tightly as more tears streamed down her face, “I—I only agreed so you could shut up—”

“Don’t lie,” Steve interjected. “You wanted to go—you even asked if you could bring anything. Why the sudden change?”

She shrugged sloppily. “Hmm, I don’t know, maybe because I _hate_ Christmas and everything that it is?” she continued to rant. “And maybe I just don’t want to be around people today. Some of us actually are _used_ to spending the day alone, you know.”

Pushing himself off the door, Steve stepped closer to her. Sensing his movement, she glowered at him, curling deeper into herself. For someone so wisecracking and stubborn, Steve didn’t expect her to be…like this. Shouting, stuttering, an open version of reluctance he had felt in himself one too many times.

“Uh, yeah I _do_ know,” he said quietly, his voice echoing off the tile. “I’ve spent Christmases by myself before too.” Her movement’s stilled, listening to him. “Until now.” Feeling too tall in the small restroom, Steve squatted down and sat on the floor beside her. “If it makes you feel any better, it’s be my first Christmas with the Hoppers too.”

She didn’t look down at him, but instead focused on a spot on the floor. “Really?” she mumbled.

“Yeah,” he answered, scratching the back of his head. “And to be perfectly honest, I’m nervous too and I _live_ with them.”

A snort escaped her. “I just…” she heaved a sigh, her shoulders drooping, “… I just don’t understand how anyone else would want to spend time with me on the holiday when my own family won’t.” She picked at her fingers, the nails bitten to the nub and skin raw. “I spilled coffee on myself this morning. Not—not just now. It was an excuse,” she confessed, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “A stupid excuse because before I went into the Chief’s office I got a call from my dad.”

“And how was that?” Steve asked, unsure of where this was going. Growing up, he never heard much of Nicole’s father. It was always her, her mother, and her grandma. Then her grandma passed away a few years prior, the girl becoming even more of a recluse after the event.

“Just apologies he doesn’t mean,” she said as she wiped the remaining of her tears away. “I hear it every year and I—I don’t know something about this one made me _snap_ , and now here I am crying with you in the station restroom,” she groaned out miserably.

“That sounds pretty shitty.”

“Thanks,” she said with an eyeroll.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Steve placed a hand on her shoulder. The gesture caused her to peek up at him, a cautious air to her.

“You’re not going to be alone tonight. And if anyone annoys you or gives you shit, just let me know and I’ll, I don’t know, give them a noogie or something.”

She chuckled at the notion, Steve smiling at the sound. Standing back up, he offered his hand to her, Nicole taking his hand. As she readjusted her clothes, she bemoaned at the sight of her face, tear stains down her cheeks.

“Ugh, I look like a disaster,” she declared, grabbing a handful of paper towels to clean up her face.

“You look beautiful,” Steve blurted out, meeting her gaze through the mirrors reflection.

Perplexed by the sudden compliment, Nicole’s ducked her head back down. “Now I know for sure you say that to _all_ the girls, Harrington.”

He tried not to be disheartened at the return of his last name. Not to sound like a sap, but he sort of liked it when she called him ‘Steve’.

* * *

“What the hell is going on here?” Joyce cried out, nearly dropping her coat and purse at the front door.

Standing in the middle of dining area, the two culprits looked back and forth at each other in panic. Mashed potatoes and macaroni littered the floor as well as Max and Mike, the two matching portraits of disaster.

“I leave you alone for what, an _hour_ , for the house to fall into chaos? I just asked for you to continue with dinner! Not make a war-zone!” Shutting the door behind her, Joyce marched to the four. “Clean this up right now and figure out what we can salvage—if we can salvage _any_.”

With the decency of seeming apologetic, the two got to work. Stepping away from the mess, Joyce heard her son and Nancy in the kitchen having a heated argument—

“Well I didn’t ask you to come along, Nance!”

“Like I couldn’t! Our parents would have noticed something was off, if I didn’t show up!”

“If you are so upset and can’t stand to be around me, why don’t you go to your Mom’s!”

“And have her see me like this—are you insane?”

“She’s gonna see you at some point, like tomorrow!”

“What if I just don’t show up tomorrow—make an excuse—”

“Because that’s going to go over _so well_ —”

“What’s going on here?” Joyce question unceremoniously announced her presence.

The two turned to her, their conversation put to an immediate halt.

Her concerned dark eyes darted between the two, an uncomfortable sense of Déjà vu flooding her at the sight of the two shouting at one another in the kitchen.

“Nothing,” Nancy said, forcing a smile, “I uh, need to use the restroom. Excuse me,” she hurried past the two, heading down the hall.

Jonathan watched her go, face shadowed with pain at her quick departure.

“Honey, what was that all about?”

“It’s nothing, Mom,” Jonathan deflected, turning back to the stove. “Just a small argument. It’ll blow over soon enough.”

“But if there is anything going on—”

“ _WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO THE DINING ROOM_?” Jim’s voice bombed in the house, both Joyce and Jonathan wincing.

Leaning away from her son, Joyce called out, “I already took care of it, Hop! Leave them be!”

“These kids I swear…” he gruff mumbled was heard as he paused by the kitchen doorway. Upon seeing her Jim brightened. Grinning at him, Joyce went over to greet her husband, he leaning in for a quick peck that became more of a smooch much to her eldest son’s disgust. “How was your day?”

“Lots of running around and finishing present wrapping, but good,” she said, patting his chest lightly. “And you?”

“Paperwork,” he grunted, his disdain evident.

“And El?”

“Better.”

“Good,” she said with relief, “was a little worried about her.”

“She’ll be fine,” Jim assured her, pulling away. “Let me change out of uniform and I can help finish setting up—”

“ _Guess who is here to party_!” the distinct shout of Dustin Henderson came from the front door, both parents’ faces falling, knowing they were going to have the entire party over without so much a warning. It was a matter of time before Lucas and Erica Sinclair showed up on their doorstep with some D and D campaign.

Stepping further into the living room area, the two saw the boy rush over to Mike and Max, almost slipping on a splat of mashed potatoes. From the couch El watched the interaction with small smile, her quiet anger and sadness from earlier practically gone.

“I told you not to yell when you came in!” Steve scolded seconds later as he entered the house. Seeing the two, he waved to Joyce and Jim before motioning behind him. A petite young woman came in after him, a nervous but eager energy to her. “Chief you already know her, but this is my friend Nicole,” he said nudging the woman forward.

She glared at the motion, but soon a pleasant smile was on her lips. “It’s nice to meet you Joyce, I’ve heard so much about you from the Chief and Steve. Nice to finally put a name to a face.”

“Same to you,” she greeted her with a hug, Nicole shocked for a moment before returning the gesture.

Steve’s grin at the interaction soon fell as he locked back out the open door, expecting someone else to follow. “Where the hell is Rob—”

Robin—surprisingly—then came marching in, slamming the door behind her. “Hey everyone,” she said quickly, prepared to rush past the four of them.

Only Joyce caught the girl’s arms before she could go any further. One glance at Robin’s downcast eyes and she knew the reunion between daughter and parents did not go as planned.

“Sweetie, why don’t you go and wash up in the upstairs bathroom? I think we are going to get eating soon,” she told the girl, hoping the offer would give the girl the privacy she might need with a house full to the brim.

Nodding mutely, Robin dashed up the stairs, unaware of the concerned glances of Jim, Joyce, Steve and Nicole.

Before anyone could comment on her departure, the knock of the front door got everyone moving again. Hopper hurried off to change, while Steve went about introducing Nicole to all the kids.

Rushing to the door, Joyce opened it—

“Why if it isn’t Joyce Byers or should I say _Hopper_ now. You and the big guy finally got around to it, eh?”

“Murray?” Joyce gaped at him. “What—what are you doing here?”

Without invitation, he stepped into the house, shaking off his coat. Dazed, Joyce shut the door, turning to him in complete puzzlement.

“Why to visit my favorite family of course,” Murray answered, “I feel like last years dramatics really bonded us all, thought it be right in the sake of anniversaries to visit.”

“But—but we didn’t invite you!”

Murray chuckled, looking down at her dubiously, “Does family _really_ need an invitation Joyce?”

“Uh, _yes_ ,” she insisted. “Yes, they do.”

“Ah, contrary; mi casa es tu casa. I believe it goes both ways, _Mrs. Hopper_ ,” she rolled her eyes at the mocking formality, “by the way can I crash here for the night? I don’t trust motels.”

Her mouth worked for an answer, only making painful sound. “I—”

Jim then choose that moment to come downstairs, halting at the sight of the conspiracy theorist. “What is _he_ doing here?”

Joyce realized in that moment, the sentiment of ‘the more, the merry’ was unadulteratedly _wrong_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DID I BREAK UP JANCY? Yeah...I sort of did. Oops?
> 
> AND MURRAY! 
> 
> Is he going to become that annoying, weird 'uncle' who randomly shows up? Maybe ;)
> 
> Also Mike and Max fighting :) Ah, I love a good bicker.
> 
> Let me know what you think! Comments and kudos are always appreciated; love discussing the fic with readers :)
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @intp-slytherin97 or on twitter @intpslytherin97


	6. Interlude: Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last interlude installment for Christmas! We will get back to characters moving-in in the next chapter :D
> 
> Typos will be fixed later! 
> 
> Enjoy

* * *

It sort of happened fast.

Yelling, crying, giggling, hugs and kisses.

And then it was _done_.

All the presents are opened, the breakfast is eaten, and the living room looks like a complete and utter disaster.

But at least the major hump of the holiday was over and about a quarter of the kids were leaving for other Christmas Day festivities. In the haste and joy of Christmas morning, Mike dragged a giggling El out of the house, the two at some point the previous night working out whatever caused a wedge between them. Meanwhile Jonathan and Nancy were the polar opposites of the younger couple they were spending the day with, sharp words and comments, before announcing they were heading out to the Wheeler house.

Upon seeing it snowed overnight, Max and Will were in a hurry to go out and play out in the new layer of snow outside, for a brief moment acting younger than either had the privilege of being in recent years.

Which then left Joyce and Jim with their _other_ children—

Robin and Steve eating another plate of cookies in front of the television as Christmas specials played.

“When you think about it Santa Clause is the scariest shit ever,” Robin mumbled between bites of a cookie. “Sneaking into your house through the chimney, leaving presents, but you don’t know what’s inside. Some freaky shit right there.”

“He’s a _magical_ being,” Steve argued, “are you telling me a jolly magical being is scary?”

“Actually Santa Clause is considered a dark figure to scare children in some countries,” she said, popping the rest of cookie in her mouth. “Plus any magical being can be evil and scary—hello, _witches_.”

Sighing, Joyce went back to dining area, her hardly touched coffee in hand. Sitting together in semi-companionable silence was her husband and their uninvited house guest, Murray. While they’d been reluctant to have him stick around, Joyce and Jim did not have the room nor heart to refuse. He did risk his life to save Jim’s—like they all did—and he was, begrudgingly a friend.

“Joyce, I feel like congratulations are in order,” Murray teased upon seeing her.

She froze, eyebrows furrowing together. Did—did Murray _know_? How the hell could he know—she wasn’t even showing and she barely found out a couple days ago—

“Excuse me?” she uttered, at a loss.

He raised an eyebrow. “On the _grandbaby_ ,” he stressed, her reaction no doubt piking his curiosity.

“Right,” she said with a forced mirth, hoping to cover up her confusion and slight scare. “Of course—”

“Unless there is something else to celebrate—?”

“No, no, no,” Joyce shook her head, banishing the idea before anyone else could entertain it. “Me, pregnant? That would insane—I’m already in my forties.”

“Plenty of women have children in their forties,” Murray countered, watching eerily over the top of his mug.

Jim chuckled under his breath. “We have four teenagers in the house, and not to mention those two knuckleheads,” he nodded over to where Steve and Robin continued to argue about the creepiness of Santa Clause, “adding a baby into the mix would be…” he winced greatly, causing Joyce’s gut to sink, “a terrible idea.”

Thankfully, Murray didn’t argue on the matter, he himself notably not fond of children of any age. He did tsk sadly, “I guess the only downfall to all this Nancy and Jonathan’s breakup.”

Silence fell over the three as the words sunk in.

“No, they’re still together—

“They aren’t broken up—”

Joyce and Jim said, their words overlapping one another.

“Oh, you two do not see it?” Murray erupted, practically scandalized. “The glares, the griping, the snippy comments—and not the good, sexual kind. Not like you two,” he waved at them, “oh, boy no. We are talking full out, ‘I hate you because our relationship is over’ anger between them.” He then sipped more his coffee, humming at the warmth.

“But—but they came here together. They have been sharing a room,” Joyce told him, fiddling with the handle of her coffee mug. “Why didn’t they just tell us?”

“Tell us, hey ‘we’re pregnant’ and we are not together?” Jim countered a bit sagely, his initial outcry against the though simmering. “For all their talk, those two were probably shaking in their boots at the thought of coming here and telling us the truth.”

“Exactly,” Murray agreed, “I simply suggest you confront them.”

“No,” Joyce grumbled, “we are not going to confront them. That can backfire,” she could already feel Jim’s eyeroll at what she was about to say, “we need to let them come to us. Let Nancy and Jonathan tell us in their own time. It let’s them know we are more of a friend. It then opens up the opportunity for a _heart to heart_.”

Jim groaned into his hands, while Murray seemed mildly offended by the term.

The former journalist stared her dead in the eye. “A ‘heart to heart’? Joyce, you boy is lying to you—”

“Not really.”

“Yes, _really_. And you got to nip that in bud—”

“I have raised my son practically by myself for his entire life,” Joyce reminded him sharply, “I think I know how to do this, Murray.”

Knowing it best to keep his opinion to himself in this instance, Murray nodded once to her. “Heard loud and clear, Mrs. Hopper.”

She didn’t miss Jim’s smirk at the comment; he got a secret thrill when he heard other people refer to her as _Mrs. Hopper_ , even if she could never get accustomed to the sound of it. _Mrs. Hopper_ was Jim’s mother Joyce’s mind, the unbelievably kind Doreen Hopper. To be called by her name almost felt wrong to Joyce; she was no Mrs. Hopper, doing more than any woman should.

Jim then glanced down at his mug, sighing dejectedly. “Got to get a refill,” he announced before getting up from the table. Joyce watched him go, prepared to go follow after him, she needing to dispose of her untouched coffee.

However, the gentle nudge on her elbow held her back.

Glancing back, she saw Murray’s tired and knowing eyes trained on her. “Now Joyce, lady doth protest too much earlier,” his eyes flickered to the mug in her hand. “Not a single sip since serving yourself a mug?”

“I simply forgot about it,” she muttered, he not buying her flimsy lie.

“And I have not seen you smoke once since I’ve arrived,” he continued, “and I am pretty sure you’ve cried the most today than I have ever seen you cry, and we’ve been through some shit today…”

“Murray,” she warned, teeth gritting.

“Ya gotta tell Jim-bo.”

“I’ll tell him once this all blows over,” she told him. Hesitantly she peeked up at him. “If you haven’t noticed, a lot is going on here.”

Murray hummed in disagreement. “Sure—but I think it’s an excuse.”

Unable to argue with him on his truthful assessment, Joyce glared. She hated it when Murray was right.

* * *

“Michael, can you please pass the butter,” Karen asked, digging into her sausage harshly. She took an aggressive bite, chewing with more vigor. Her hands clenched and unclenched on the table, the forced smile of her lips unrelenting and eerie.

Listening to his mother, he passed the small dish over to her. Taking the butter knife, Karen lathered a helping on to her waffle, ignoring the concerned eyes of her children as she did so.

“Anything you’d like to tell me too, Michael?” she said, raising a finely plucked eyebrow at her son. “Any life altering news I need to know before I continue eating,” she cut the waffled into fours roughly, metal clattering against porcelain, “so I don’t choke on my meal.”

Mike shook his head.

From the opposite end of the table, Holly hummed to herself as she chewed on a piece of her cut up waffle, syrup dripping on her chin. She seemed aware yet unphased by the tension at the table, preferring to eat her Christmas Brunch happily than engage with whatever was going on with her siblings and her mother.

Nancy sighed, looking down on her lap. “Mom—”

“Nancy—I don’t want to hear excuses,” Karen interjected before her daughter could get far, “I just want us to eat our meal in peace.”

“No,” Nancy announced, earning an exasperate glance from Jonathan. “No, I don’t want to put this off. I just can’t believe you are upset with me for being _pregnant_ —”

“I’m not upset about you being pregnant,” Karen set her utensils down with a clang, matching her daughters determined gaze. “I am upset I had to find out on Christmas, when you are seven months along.”

“Mom—”

“That you didn’t tell me sooner, that you didn’t come to _me_ for help. That is why I am upset, Nancy. Not because you got pregnant.” Her mother’s voice wavered, overcome with emotion. Inhaling deeply, she shook her head, looking up at the ceiling. “I thought after the whole…work and government mess we were past this secrecy—I thought we could _talk_ to each other.”

For once Nancy seemed rendered speechless, remaining silent as everyone else slowly resumed eating.

* * *

“He looks good,” Max praised, looking their snowman from head to toe. “I especially like the cape—adds more to his wizarding-ness.”

Will grinned, pleased. “Yeah, it’s my old one. Thought Snowy the Sorcerer deserves a decent cape.”

“Old one?”

“Yeah,” Will shrugged, a little bashful. “Mike got me a new one for Christmas.”

“Oh,” she uttered, hoping her tone was pleasant. “That’s…that’s nice of him.”

“It was,” he mumbled, focusing back on the smoothing out Snowy the Sorcerer’s lumps.

Max chewed on the inside of her cheek, reaching over to secure Snowy’s eyes; they were starting droop out of the little sockets she made. “Are…are you bumbed he couldn’t hang out today?”

Will shrugged, eyebrows furrowed. “He’s always with El. So it’s not really a surprise.”

“But I—,” she wiggled around her mind to figure out the best way to ask her question; she’d been thinking about it for a while, “You did want him to here with you—”

“I like hanging out with you too.”

“No,” she grumbled, standing to face Will dead on. “I mean, you wished he was hanging out with _you_ instead of hanging out with _El_.”

Will blinked at her, momentarily stunned. His eyes then narrowed, a shaky huff escaping him. “He makes El happy—and if El is happy, then _I’m_ happy.”

An aggravated groan came from the back of Max’s throat. “Dude, just admit it!” she shoved his shoulder. “I honestly _don’t care_ —I just want to know because—well, because I care.”

Stubbornly she waited, arms crossed over her chest.

Will squirmed under her gaze.

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t…and no. No,” he shook his head, caving in on himself.

Huffing, she nudged him again, dropping her voice to a murmur. “If…if I tell you something—do you think you’d just tell me?”

He rolled his eyes. “Like what Max?”

“I like someone I can’t be with either.”

His eyes widen, mouth gapping. “What? You like gir—”

“No,” she corrected quickly, “just someone I probably shouldn’t like.”

“What about Lucas?”

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes dramatically. “He and I broke up.”

“ _Again_?”

“Maybe we’ll get back together. I don’t know,” she said, dejected. She fiddled with the edge of the cape, fluffing it a little. “But I shared—now it’s your turn.”

Glancing around, he shifted closer and lowered his voice. “He likes El and he’ll always like El. That’s just how it is.” His gaze remained on the snowman, not willing himself to look over to her; too embarrassed. Too scared.

“No one likes a tortured soul, Will Byers,” Max remarked a little playfully, hoping to lighten the mood. “And don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

“I know you won’t,” Will reached for her hand, holding it as a faint anchor. “You’re not like that Max.”

She smirked.

Then shoved him into the snow.

“ _Hey_!”

“Catch me if you can!” she called out. “First one to the house gets the cookies!”

Dusting off the melting snow, Will ran after her with glee, their conversation falling to the back of his mind.

* * *

“Hey, no running in the house!” Jim called out halfheartedly, Max and Will dashing by him into the kitchen.

He glanced down at the trail of dirt and water, and frowned.

“These damn kids,” he muttered, grabbing a towel off the kitchen counter and wiping up the melted snow before anyone could slip. Heading to the back of the house where the laundry area was situated, he heard mumbled voice coming from the hall bathroom.

His natural investigative instincts overridden his plans, Jim halting before the closed door.

“What do you mean you think she’s pregnant? That’s insane,” Robin’s faint raspy voice came from the other side.

“No—not really. They are always all over each other. It’s a little gross,” Steve replied with an air of franticness.

“Okay I can agree with you there,” she tsked, “But her age—that doesn’t seem likely.”

“It happens more often than not. Look at Wheeler.”

“Fuck, you’re right. But there might be two babies in the house? We’re gonna get the boot.”

“No, Joyce and Chief wouldn’t do that—”

“Wait, do you think the Chief _knows_?”

“Uh—”

“Oh my god, he’s going to lose his shit.”

Jim recoiled at the mention of his name, his mind reeling.

Someone _else_ was pregnant?

And Wheeler…

 _But her_ _age_ —

That fucking Wheeler kid.

“JOYCE!”

Seeing red, Jim marched out of the hall over to the living room where he’d left his wife and Murray.

“What Hop?” She rubbed her forehead, glancing up at him with exhaustion.

“I’m gonna kill that kid—”

Immediately she was on high alert, standing up and grabbing his arms before he could go charging out in the snow in just a flannel and jeans.

“Which kid, Hop? And what are you—”

“Wheeler— _I’m gonna kill Wheeler_!” He was never letting that Wheeler kid ever touch his daughter again.

“Why?” Joyce asked sternly, forcing Jim to look at her. “Why do you want to kill Mike?”

“He knocked up El!”

“ _WHAT?”_

“I knew—I fucking knew not to let him into this house— _but goddamn it I let him in_! I gave him easy access,” he groaned, dropping his hands into his palms. His head snapped up, veins nearly popping out of his neck. “I gotta—I gotta go and—”

“No, no, no!” Joyce ordered, standing like an unmoving mountain before him. “They aren’t even here Hop. How did you find this out?”

His answer came peeking into from the end of the hall, the two young adults looking ready to run in the opposite direction.

“The kids—” he motioned to Steve and Robin, “—they were talking about in the bathroom.”

“You were _eavesdropping_? Hopper!” Joyce scolded. “Seriously—why would you do that?”

“I like to know what is going on in my house and everyone has been little sneaky bastards these last few days and it is putting me on edge! IT IS PUTTING ME ON EDGE JOYCE!”

“Um, Chief?” Robin held her hand up in the air, hoping to catch the couples attention. “We—we weren’t, um, talking about El.”

His eyebrows furrowed, the portrait of confusion. “What?”

“We were talking about,” Steve shook his head frantically, Robin stuttering over her words. “We…we were—we were talking about me!” she declared, her phrasing clunky and forced.

She was met with a slew of disbelieved faces.

A small, then boisterous snicker emerged from Jim, he struggling to catch his breath.

“Now that—now that is a lie.”

“I could get pregnant if I want!”

Another round of giggles came from Steve. Annoyed, Robin whacked his stomach, he doubling over. Yet he continued to giggle through the pain.

“My god—why do I subject myself to this!” Robin griped, arms crossed over her chest defiantly.

Jim swallowed his mirth, becoming serious once more. “Be honest— _who were you talking about_?”

Both Robin and Steve remained quiet, sharing looks of apprehension and confusion. Watching them closely, it became obvious their eyes were flickering to someone behind Jim.

Turning around, his eyes immediately landed on Joyce, who looked like she was ready to burst into flames with guilt.

“Joyce?”

“Surprise?” she uttered, voice going high with lackluster spirit fingers.

Jim blinked at her—the pieces slowly connecting together. “You—your—what? How?”

She stared up at him, imploringly. “I think you know how, Hop.”

He nodded numbly, his chest tightening. Sweat seemed to secrete everywhere on his body at once, a wave of a tingling crawl submerging him. “Is it—is it getting hot in here? I think I’m gonna—"

His feet stumbled, he catching on to the nearby doorway for support.

A few cries of fear and help sounded in the room.

The room that was now apparently spinning. Sliding down the wall, the world went dark before he could comprehend what was going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH HOPPER *shakes head*
> 
> What do you guys think Nancy and Jonathan are going to do? Fun fact: it is probably not going to go the way you think ;)
> 
> And WILL. My sweet boy. I love him.
> 
> And who does Max like? Hmmmmmm. (Don't worry Lumax shippers. They are endgame, but we might take some detours.)
> 
> Let me know what you think! Comments and kudos are always appreciated; love discussing the fic with readers! :D


	7. Jonathan And...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeeyyyyyyy
> 
> Long time no see. My other fandom (you can just look at my other fics and you'll know) has gone through a lot these last few months so I have been in the trenches with THAT, that I sort of put all of my ST fics on the backburner.
> 
> BUT THEN STRANGER THINGS HAD TO DROP THAT TEASER AND THE PASSION WAS REIGNITED. 
> 
> (Hop, my burly man, WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO YOU? JOYCE NEEDS TO SAVE YOU MY MAN.)
> 
> Anyways...here is another chapter.
> 
> Typos will be fixed later.
> 
> Enjoy :D

**Jonathan and...**

Once March rolled around, Nancy and Jonathan became a permanent fixture on the Hopper-Byer’s house, the baby due in a matter of weeks.

Saying it was a tight squeeze was an understatement.

The restroom became a war zone—

“ _Come_ on _I have work in a half hour!”_

“Hey! I just needed to grab a towel.”

“ _OCU-PO-DO_!”

“WHO USED ALL THE TOOTHPASTE?”

“ _Ew! There is pee_ everywhere!”

“PICK UP YOUR DAMN CLOTHES, ROBIN!”

“ _I really, really, really, need to go_! _I can’t hold it_.”

–and the bedroom situation was no better.

Much to everyone chagrin, Steve and Robin’s room was commandeered into a Jonathan-Nancy-Baby space. Unfortunately, it left the other two forced to room with chattery teenagers.

An experience neither Robin or Steve were fond of, Joyce discovering this by nearly tripping over their bodies in the hallway.

“What the hell?” Leaning on the wall for support, Joyce squinted the lumpy forms on the floor. “Robin, sweetie what are you doing?”

“If I have to hear how great of a kisser Mike is one more time I might shove glass in my ears,” Robin hissed into her pillow.

Beside her, Steve winced in his mid-slumber daze. Soon it faded and he was back to sleeping soundly on his side, dead to the world.

Pity welled in Joyce. Robin and Steve did not need to put themselves out when they had every right to be in the house than anyone else.

“Get up,” she told the girl, nudging her lightly with her foot. She did the same to Steve, the two getting up with a bit more coaxing. “Go sleep in the living room.”

“But won’t Hopper get upset because sleeping on the couch ruins the cushions—”

Joyce waved her off. “Forget him.” She knew Hopper was trying to keep their new couches good for as long as possible, but the kids shouldn’t be sleeping on the floor. Especially since it seemed they’d been doing so for _days_. “I’ll deal with Hopper, you two just need to sleep somewhere that isn’t the hardwood floor, or in the middle of a hallway.”

With mumbles and grumbles, Steve and Robin clamored their way to the living room.

Making her way past the two, Joyce came into the kitchen and grabbed herself a glass of water.

Mid-sip she heard—“ _Shit_! Who left pillows on the floor?”

Hop came shuffling into the kitchen. “I swear to god these kids are trying to kill me…” he grumbled, “with all their crap everywhere…”

“We need to get Jonathan and Nancy out of the house,” Joyce said, a tired sigh lacing her words. A tough, but necessary call.

“Really?” he grunted, coming over to fill up the coffee pot. Five in the morning days required a good few cups in his system, he needing to leave for the station before six, dragging along a less than thrilled Steve. Anyone would need a cup of coffee if they had an early morning commute with Steve.

“ _Yes_.” Joyce squeezed her eyes shut. She always wanted her kids to know they had a home with her forever, could run to her if they needed help. But… “We are all living on top of each other,” she hissed, keeping her voice low. “And while I love them—I do love them.” She wasn’t too sure if she was insisting for her sake or for Hopper’s. “I can’t _live_ with them.”

Across from her, her husband sagged in relief. “Thank god you said it because—” He shook his head, the gesture answer enough. “What are we going to do?”

“Well…” she scratched her head, her bedhead getting worse, “we can’t just kick them out.”

“Sure we can,” Hop argued, grabbing a mug for himself. “They don’t contribute to the house—not like Steve and Robin—and I’d suggest they move into Karen’s but…”

Joyce winced.

The Wheeler house was leased out, a decision made by Karen once she received the settlement in her divorce. She and Holly already moved out into a condo in the next town over. Hawkins was home, Karen working at the elementary school as a librarian and Holly attending school there as well…but it was no longer welcoming. Gossip spread fast and words had a way of getting under Karen’s skin. A small distance was necessary, though temporary.

And Mike…Mike wasn’t happy at all.

And Karen wanted him to move back home, to help with Holly. To fix their relationship. Be a family. Joyce could list the reasons verbatim, hearing them over phone whenever Karen called to ask about her son.

But Karen never forced him to come back home, and the Hoppers never forced him out.

A standstill of sorts, one neither party wanted to interfere with, letting Mike come to his own decision when he was ready. A tactic Hop didn’t agree with, but knew better than to argue with Karen and Joyce.

“Then…maybe we make room.”

“I thought we were getting them out of the house,” Hop shot back, confused.

Joyce nodded to the backdoor. “Like I said make room…outside of the house.”

“No…” Hopper groaned, dropping his head against a cabinet.

“We’ve always talked about renovating the shed into another room!”

“But now?”

“What better time than now?”

Hop groaned, both knowing she was right. They’d put off the matter until it was too late.

And they didn’t have time for _too late_ in their house.

“Fine—but I want all the kids to help,” he relented. “I’m not going through all our crap by myself. They want to live here, they need to earn their keep.”

A task easier said than done.

* * *

“Come on Wheeler! Put your back into it!”

Holding the other end of the beat up sofa, Mike glared at Hopper. No one had been keen on the idea of cleaning out the large shed in the backyard, but the middle Wheeler seemed the most put out by the idea.

El claimed Mike’s attitude was because he had homework to catch up on.

Will defended Mike because he knew his best friend was still going through a ‘hard time.’

Max, on the other hand, believed Mike just didn’t want Nancy to have the option to stay any longer than she already had.

“Yeah, _Wheeler_!” Max called out, arms carrying a crate filled to the brim. “Put your twig back into it!”

Mike rolled his eyes, trying to lift the other end of the sofa with more gusto just to prove everyone wrong—

Except he tripped over his own two feet. He’d became a stumbling array of limbs, an audible thud on the wet grass following like a sad whimper.

A chorus of laughter filled the crisp March air.

“Shut your traps and keep moving,” Hopper waved off the gaggle of teens, “I want this cleared by nightfall and time is not on your side!”

Max huffed, but listened anyways, El hot on her trail as they carried the crates into the house. Will hesitated before following along, looking back at Mike every other second.

Hopper dropped his end of the sofa, and walked around the dusty old thing. He offered a hand to the boy.

Mike frowned at the gesture, but took the man’s hand a moment later.

“Just walk it off.” Hopper clapped his shoulder, Mike swallowing his wince. “There ya go, Wheeler.”

“I don’t understand why we have to do this,” he muttered, reaching to lift the sofa back up. Hopper mirrored him, picking up his end. Together they moved the sofa over to the side of the shed, along with all the other items to be dropped off at the dump. “Jonathan and Nancy don’t need to live here. They had their own lives in Chicago.”

“You’re complaining to the wrong adult, kid,” Hopper grunted. They dropped the sofa in tandem and dusted off their hands. He motioned Mike closer, lowering his voice. “You think I want them slumming it here? Hell, no. But I don’t have a say.”

Mike’s face scrunched. “It’s _your_ house.”

Hopper’s shoulder jumped up lazily, eyes creasing in thought. “Is it though?”

“Yes,” Mike stressed, “it _is_.”

“Mike,” Hopper rested a hand on his shoulder, “first rule about women—the house is always _their_ house.”

“But it’s your house. You bought it—”

“Uh—no, it is my _wife’s_ house. Always the wife’s house, always the women’s house. She has the final say.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense, and once you get that, your life will be easier.”

With that said, Hopper marched on to face the rest of the shed. There was still plenty of work to do, even with all hands on deck, with the exception of Steve. Only half the space had been cleared, the kids moving boxes and crates into the house to sort through.

Toss, donate, keep.

For Joyce it was easy—keep the pictures, art work, and baby clothes.

For Hopper, he only insisted on keep some of his grandpa’s belongings, his Vietnam box, and his records.

Unfortunately, Will was far too sentimental for his own good.

“But I can’t get rid of it!”

“You haven’t worn that in years!” Joyce griped, taking the old wizard cloak from Will. “Honey, it doesn’t even fit you anymore.” Will’s late growth spurt over the summer caused a shift in wardrobe to accommodate his lankiness. His old polos and sweaters had to be replaced with hand-me-down flannels and larger coats, commandeered from Hopper and Jonathan’s closets. “I think it might be time to say goodbye to—”

Will snatched the wizard cloak back.

He folded the purple fabric with care over his arm, tucked close to his chest.

“I’m _not_ getting rid of my wizard cloak, Mom.”

Realizing she was facing a losing battle, Joyce nodded once. “Alright, I get it. Will the Wise will always need his cloak.”

El was no better, hoarding each and every thingamabob she came across.

“I want this.” She held up an old can and string set, put together by hand some odd ten years ago.

“It’s garbage, El,” Max reminded her, “these don’t even work.”

The girl shrugged. “I like it.” And then she’d run up the stairs to stash all the treasures she came across. Her pile continued to grow and grow, all stacked on her bed and dresser.

If anything, the clear out was causing more harm than good.

Staring out into the mess of boxes and crates in the living room, Joyce sighed. This was supposed to be solving their problems, not causing more.

“Maybe fixing up the shed wasn’t the best idea.”

Hopper scrubbed his face, half tempted to argue he’d claimed such in the first place. Instead, he sighed and nodded along. “Yep. I think you might be right.”

* * *

When it was announced over dinner they’d be clearing the shed and renovating it over the next weekend, Steve took on some extra shifts at the station.

Was it a shit move? Yes.

But was he going to clean for Jonathan and Nancy’s sake when he was sleeping on the floor and not in the comfort of his own bed? Hell no.

Steve just wanted his damn room back, and if he could get out of the physical labor part of it, then even better. Plus weekends at the station weren’t too bad. The occasional call here and there. One neighbor complaining about noise, another about someone parking in a ‘No Parking’ zone. Mundane shit Steve could handle in his sleep.

The only unfortunate (or possibly fortunate, depending on who was asked) part of it all was—

A file was dropped on his desk. “You do know you still have to do work, right?”

His eyes lifted from the _Captain Marvel_ comic in his hand to the stubborn woman in front of him. It’d been no surprise to discover Nicole also decided to work the weekend, Steve almost relieved to see he wouldn’t be stuck with Flo or Callahan or Powell for company.

Key word: almost.

“I am aware, Flores.”

She rolled her eyes.

Another file was dropped on his desk.

“If you are _so_ aware, then do some work for once, Harrington.”

He watched as she walked back to her desk, just a few feet away from his and got to work reorganizing the records. They’d been scrambled a bit over the years, not organized by case classification, but year. Which made sense to a degree…except Hawkins was growing and they maybe needed to be more on top of their paperwork.

Grabbing the top one on his small stack, Steve flipped it open. He held back a groan when he read the name; Leslie Hancock. A frivolous report on how her neighbor’s dog walked on her lawn again, one he had to drive out almost to the other side of town to answer. “Don’t you every get tired of doing this?”

Nicole hummed in thought, considering the question before giving a half-hearted shrug. “Sometimes. Not really. It’s pretty mindless and tedious, but it’s work.”

“I thought being a cop meant I got to ya know, take down the bad guys,” Steve confessed. He signed off at the bottom of the page, moving forward with the rest of mindless check-offs. Filling boxes and marking down the complete description of the call and encounter. “Be the hero and save the day. Actually make a difference.” He set aside the file, picking up the next one—an arrest due to public intoxication; he remember that one. Interesting, but a dime a dozen on Friday and Saturday nights. “Not just drown in paperwork.”

Nicole snorted. “‘ _Take down bad guys’_? Really, Steve?” She shook her head, her speedy hands pausing over the paper in front of her. “I think those comics you’ve been reading have gone to your head.”

“You don’t think I can be a hero?” He hated how hurt he sounded. Like he cared about her opinion.

(Because he did. He really did. Cared too much if he was being perfectly honest.)

She spared him a small glance. “I never said that, Steve.” She stood up, taking the reorganized stack with her. “I just think a hero is more than taking down the bad guys and cop is more than someone to put the bad guys in jail.”

“And what do you think heroes do, Flores?”

Pressing her lips together, she ducked her head away. “Brave, stupid, and kind. Put others before themselves. Those who do the right thing in the end.” She shook her head, a flash of disappointment in her warm brown eyes. “But what do I know? I’m just the secretary.”

From his desk, he watched her march off to the records room at the back of the station.

He’d been half tempted to call after her, ask if she believed he had those qualities. If he was already a hero in her eyes; a girl who just knew him as Steve Harrington. Whether that be the annoying classmate she unfortunately had to sit next to in the beginning of the year every year due to alphabetical order, or the bemoaning young cop shadowing Chief Hopper.

She didn’t know the upside down, or the horrors any of them faced.

And somehow that made her words all the more better.

* * *

“Why the fuck do we need to clean when—” Robin glanced around the shed; it was just her and Mike, “—when Nancy and Jonathan aren’t ever here to do the grunt work?”

“Nancy is with my mom, going through her own boxes from the move,” Mike droned, dragging the broom lazily across the floor, “and Jonathan is at work. He took a second job at the gas station.”

Dusting off the curtains hanging by the window, Robin scoffed. “I get it. Sort of. Tough times in paradise, but that doesn’t mean they need to drag us down with their—”

“How’s the cleaning coming?” Joyce popped her head into the cleared out shed. Max, Will, and El was tasked with condensing the boxes, leaving Robin and Mike with finishing up the dusting and sweeping. The mother of the house hummed in approval at their handiwork, squinting out towards the streaming through the open window. “I’ve never seen it so empty, it’s kind of nice. Never knew this much light could even get in here.”

“It’s going great, Joyce,” Robin announced, nipping away any possible whine that could come from Mike’s mouth. “Almost done and then we can maybe do a paint job, get some new curtains in and then it’ll look brand new.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Joyce beamed at the girl, eyes roving around the room. A shine of disappointment reflected in her eyes for a fraction of a second. Better yet a tinge of regret seemed more fitting. If Robin knew any better, she’d believe Joyce was having second thoughts on Nancy and Jonathan seemingly becoming permanent residents at casa de Hopper.

A subconscious hand drop to her belly, the small bump barely visible under the flannel and sweater. There had yet to be a formal announcement amongst the family, but Joyce’s pregnancy wasn’t a secret. Just not discussed in great detail.

Hopper muttered once it was because Joyce was ‘too independent and stubborn’—she never wanted anyone to worry over her. To give a helping hand. For her to acknowledge she couldn’t do certain tasks alone.

And Robin found she wanted help Joyce in every way possible despite the woman’s reluctance.

“Hey, let me walk you back to the house and get you some tea,” Robin passed off the rag in her hand to Mike. The boy scowled at her, but threw the dusty thing on his shoulder nonetheless.

“Oh you don’t need to.” Joyce waved her off. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’ve been up and moving all day. It’s the least I can do.”

Joyce sighed at Robin’s insistence, relenting. “Fine.”

The girl made quick to follow Joyce, leaving Mike in his lonesome. Gazing around the 15x18 foot space, he felt small. Just that morning it’d been filled to the brim with boxes and old furniture. And it’d been fun seeing his friends rediscover their old belongings and treasures, but Mike felt out of place watching them.

He wasn’t sure why. But Nancy’s presence wasn’t helping.

She’d mother him and check in on him and scold him, like she was some sort half replacement for their mother. A stressed out face amongst the oblivious crowd in the house; not that he could blame anyone for not noticing his sister. They all had their own lives with school, work, and romances. No one spared a glance at the girl who had a knack of keeping it together, even with a baby on the way.

Everyone except her annoying little brother.

“Oh, it’s bigger than I thought,” Nancy’s voice echoed from the door. Turning around, Mike found Nancy standing where Joyce had moments ago, though less joyous and more troubled.

Her hand was nowhere near her bump, arms crossed over her chest in quite defiance.

She strolled into the space, eyeing the corners under the pretense of planning.

Until her careful, placid face cracked.

“Mike,” she croak, restraining tears from free falling down her face, “I can’t do this.”

“I can tell.”

She gave a low, watery chuckle. “Of course you can.” She rolled her eyes, middle and ring fingers wiping quick under her eyes. “I…I cannot see myself here. With Jonathan. Playing house when we aren’t even together, with a baby I never wanted.” Rubbing her nose, her face turned a bright shade of pink, more tears betraying her. “But he wants the baby. He wants to raise them, be the father he never got. And I get it—sort of—but….” She shook her head. “Fuck, why am I telling you this? You probably don’t even give a shit or understand or—”

Her next words died in her throat as Mike wrapped his arms around her.

And hugged her.

Truly hugged her. For the first time in years.

He was much taller than he’d been when he was fourteen. Almost a good head taller.

But the warmth and familiarity felt the same. That could never change.

“Do what you need to do,” Mike muttered, resting his chin on her shoulder. “And I’ll understand. I’ll…defend you.”

“I just don’t want to be like, Mom.”

“And you won’t.”

* * *

Two days later, Nancy goes into labor.

The house goes nuts.

“There is water everywhere!”

“ _Ew! Ew! Ew!”_

“Is it gonna hurt like that video we have to watch in science?”

_“Shut up Max!”_

But they got to the hospital in time, the large family all ushered into the waiting area. Only Jonathan and Karen had been allowed back, there to be assurance for Nancy.

And they waited.

Mike and El together in the corner talking quietly, heads low and shoulders hunched. Confiding in the mildly life altering event. About what Nancy confided.

Robin showing Max and Will a card game with a deck she had stashed on her. She showcased more flourish with her shuffling than her knowledge on the rules of the game, but they were distracted and had fun.

Dustin and Lucas buying all they could from the vending machine and setting out to decide what would be the best hospital waiting room snack. Both ended up with stomachaches, Dustin needing to see a nurse himself, but the two thought the experiment well worth it.

Steve slept in the other corner, a soft snore coming from his open mouth.

Nicole arrived, a surprise to both Hopper and Joyce, but left within moments upon seeing Steve asleep.

Hopper tried to stop her, however she waved him off, calling out about seeing him in the office later in the week. He knew Steve has been on the tail end of a shift when he got the call about the baby coming, no doubt Nicole in the office as well.

“She seems like a really nice girl,” Joyce muttered.

“She is,” Hopper agreed readily.

“But troubled.”

“She…is,” came his reluctant response. “If only Harrington will get his head out of his ass and see it.”

Joyce snorted, swatting her husband on the shoulder.

Hopper chuckled under his breath, catching her hand in his. A firm kiss pressed to the back of her hand. “How are you feeling?”

“I think you are asking the wrong pregnant woman that question,” she joked, her voice tinged in dark humor.

“I mean, how are feeling about becoming, ya know, a _grandma_?” He whispered the word, like it was a taboo to say out loud.

It wasn’t.

But it didn’t necessarily boost Joyce’s ego.

“It doesn’t feel real,” she confessed. “Because I’m too young to be a grandma,” she rolled her eyes, “not that I am one of those mom’s but…my baby is having a baby and _I am_ having a baby. Something about that just doesn’t feel right sometimes,” her voice dropped low, hoping the kids a few chairs down didn’t hear them. “But I’m excited. A little. To see her.”

“How do you know it’s a girl?” Hopper raised an eyebrow. “Not because of one of those old wives tales right?”

She shrugged, a smile pulling on her lips. “Just a feeling.” She dropped her chin in her hand, leaning closer to him. “And you?”

“Never thought I’d be a dad again, let alone a grandpa,” his body relaxed a bit, coming closer to her in the tight waiting room chairs, “so this is nice.”

“I’m glad you think it’s nice.” Joyce squeezed his hand, before looking out to the waiting room.

Dustin and Lucas were napping.

Max and El were walking to the vending machine for their own snacks.

Robin nudged Steve awake, he blinking blearily up at her as she hissed about something or other.

Mike sat alone.

Will came over and plopped himself on the chair on the other side of Joyce.

“How long does it take for a baby to be born?”

“Depends on the baby,” Joyce answered, patient as ever despite the agonizing wait. “Jonathan took a good fifteen hours of labor, while you were quick and easy. Came less than hour after I came to the hospital.”

“Oh,” Will uttered, slumping further in his seat. “How long have we been here?”

Hopper check his watch. “Four hours.”

The boy groaned.

* * *

Two hours later, Jonathan came to the room, a gob smacked smile on his face. “It’s a girl.”

Joanna Barbara Byers

A small little thing. Pinkish and eyes cracking open with a blue hue only newborns possessed.

She yawned and slept, her lungs tuckered out from her welcome scream.

Tuffs of dark hair decorated the top of her head, smeared against her soft skull.

Every had a chance to hold her, cradle the infant in their arms in wonder or disgust. Steve immediately told the baby to call him ‘Uncle’ and how he’d protect her for all the bad guys. While El just continued to call the bundle of joy ‘pretty’ as though it were the only word she could form at the sight of her before passing her off to Will then Robin. Both who were unsure of what to do with the shriveled and prune-like baby. Lucas and Max argued over who got to hold her first, missing their chance to actually hold her. Meanwhile Dustin held her for longer than anyone wanted, listing off facts about newborn’s brains.

Mike held her for longest. Staring down at her, not saying a word. But making silent promises.

Nancy remained passive, her smile never reaching her eyes.

Joanna Barbara Byers stayed with her mother at the hospital for a few days. Until it was time for discharge.

Then she came home with Jonathan.

And Nancy went back to Chicago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of introspection in this chapter....hmmm.
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Love discussing the fic with readers :D


	8. ...Joanna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is another chapter!
> 
> Typos will be fixed later. Enjoy :D

Having a baby in the house changed everything.

And also nothing at all.

The bathroom was still a disaster.

_“Taking thirty minute showers should be illegal!”_

_“I need to go pee!”_

_“Some of us have work, damn it!”_

Mornings were still chaotic.

_“Wait—I can’t find my backpack!”_

_“Just go to school without it,” Robin declared, shoving Mike along and out of the house with the rest of the gaggle of teenagers. Max, Will, and El were already piled in the car, the latter honking the horn in impatience. “We are running late.”_

_“Go to school without my backpack?” Mike shot back, looking at her as though she were an idiot. “I’m going to go find it!” He ran back up the stairs to the boy’s room, determined to find it the mess they called a room._

_“Fine! Then you’re getting there on your own!”_

_She slammed the door, running to the car—_

_Only for Mike to come barreling after her, backpack in hand. A damn stroke of luck on his part._

_They’d leave with a few minutes to spare._

Dinners were no better; messy, loud, and the table about to burst with all of them squished together—along with another growing fixture in the house; Steve’s ‘friend’ Nicole.

_“Can someone pass me the butter?”_

_“Ew, peas!”_

_“Eat them! I will not let them sit there.”_

_“Shit, I dropped my fork!”_

_“Language, Mayfield!”_

The only difference was—

“She won’t stop crying,” Jonathan muttered in a half daze at three in the morning. He bounced up and down, the way Joyce showed him the first night home and yet it did nothing. “I fed her, I changed her, I swaddled her—I did everything and nothing, Mom. Nothing!”

“Have you tried talking to her?” Joyce tried, exhausted in her own right. Seven months pregnant and she looked like a watermelon grew inside of her. She’d only found her son on the verge of a breakdown because she needed to go pee, the baby pushing on her bladder in the ungodly hour. “Or maybe try singing?”

Jonathan looked at her as though she’d grown two heads. “Why would I do that?”

She rubbed her temples as she walked away from the living room into the kitchen. A glass of water was needed if she was going to stay up any longer and deal with her crying son and granddaughter. Perhaps they should have insisted Jonathan take the renovated shed instead of camping out in the living room for the first two months. Maybe then the crying wouldn’t feel like jackhammer ramming into her head.

“Try skin to skin contact.” She grabbed glass from the top kitchen cabinet, Jonathan shuffling after her with Joanna still sobbing in his arms. “Babies like that. It soothes them.”

“I tried, but she just shoves me away,” he bemoaned, bouncing and rocking at the same time. “Maybe—maybe I should just call Nancy. See if she can come back, or we can figure something else out—”

“Jonathan,” Joyce began, her heart breaking at his crumbling defiance, “Honey—

“ _Mom_.” His voice cracked, panic quaking in him. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this on my own.”

Joyce set down the glass, the cup smacking against the cool counter tile. Turning to her boy—because he was still and would always be her boy—she firmly grasped his shoulder, forcing him to look her in the eye. “You are not going to call Nancy.”

“But Mom—”

“Shh,” she warned. Her free hand wiped away his tears, her fingers gentle yet calloused on the discolored bags under his eyes. “You _can_ do this, Jonathan. If anyone can do this, it’s you. You are a caring, sacrificial, and smart, young man who can do this. Don’t you dare think otherwise.”

He sniffled, eyes still locked on hers as he struggled to breathe.

Joanna continued to whimper in his arms, but was quieter than before. Sniffling just like her father.

In his eyes, she saw herself. A young parent, alone with a crying baby. Thinking they couldn’t do it on their own; waiting for a lover who’d only hurt them in the long run. Except Nancy wanted more than a life in a small town, with a husband and child—she had dreams and goals and aspirations, along with the talent to succeed. Lonnie wanted more and more and more—of everything—not caring who he hurt along the way.

But the outcome was still the same; a person too tender of heart and hope and a child too young to know or understand left in their wake

Funny how history had a way of repeating itself in the most unlikely of ways.

However, Jonathan had something she didn’t.

“And you’re not alone,” Joyce reminded him, wiping under his eyes once more. “You have a full house of people who love and care about you,” she peeked down at the calming infant, she smiling through her own welling tears at the sight, “and Joanna. People who would do anything to help if you just ask.”

“But,” he sighed, some of the tension easing off of him, “but she’s not any of your responsibility. She’s not anyone’s, but mine.”

Joyce shook her head. “She’ll always be your responsibility. Even when she is grown up and out of the house, a part of you will always feel responsible. But right now? Take all the love and help you can get, son. Please. For all our sakes.” She gave his shoulder a good squeeze before letting go. “You don’t have to be a hero right now.”

His face crumpled, tears falling freely down his face instead of rebel droplets.

She hugged her son, being mindful of Joanna between them, because a mother’s job was never done.

“Whoa, shit,” came a voice from the kitchen entryway.

Standing a few feet away with a massive bedhead was Robin.

“I’ll just…” she pointed behind her, stepping back, “…go?”

“No sweetie. You’re fine,” Joyce waved her to come back in, smiling through the last bit of lingering tears. “Get what you need to get.”

Robin stepped back into the kitchen, filling up her own glass of water. As she went about her business, Joyce led Jonathan to the kitchen table, making sure he sat down.

In his arms, Joanna’s sniffles subsided, she blinking up at him. Her tiny red face cleared up, little lips yawning as sleep slowly welcomed her.

And it was as though her early morning tantrum was nothing at all.

“Um,” Joyce and Jonathan looked up, finding Robin fiddling with the glass in her hand, “if—if you need anyone to watch Jo-Jo, I’m free in the afternoons on Tuesday and Thursday.” She shrugged, meeting Jonathan’s surprised gaze before shrugging again, less sure. “I mean, I don’t know anything about babies or anything, but it’s worth a shot.”

“Uh—” Jonathan glanced over to Joyce, a little confused. He didn’t really know Robin, the extent of their interactions mostly when the world was on the verge of ending and in passing in the house. He was hesitant, Joyce could see it all over his face. But she nodded, silently encouraging him to accept the offer. “Sure,” he said, voice small and rough from his tears. “If you want and don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to,” Robin shot back, teasing. Setting her empty glass down in the sink, she nodded to the two and went back to her room.

Watching as Robin left, Joyce stood up and patted Jonathan’s shoulder. “Like I said; not alone.”

* * *

And after that, that’s when the slew of offers came in—

“I can watch Jo-Jo if you need a break,” Will offered. “I finished my homework early and I have time on my hands.”

“Or I can watch Jo-Jo,” Max chimed in, bumping her shoulder with Will’s, “or we both can!”

“El and I can watch her if you need a break!” Mike would throw in, already helping more than enough, but still willing to give all that he could. He always had a sixth sense when Jonathan was starting to get a little exhausted from the day, willing to care for the infant when necessary.

“I can watch her for a weekend if you want,” Nicole offered the following night at dinner. She was squished between Steve and Max, across from Jonathan. “I don’t mind. Can give a nice change of pace, ya know? And it’s just me, so there is nothing to worry about.”

“I can help!” Steve blurted out.

All eyes landed on him.

He glanced at Nicole, she shrinking at the attention, but her eyes glued to him—wide and stunned—all the same.

“I mean, if-if you need help,” he told her, an uncharacteristic stutter to his words, “with Jo-Jo. Since it’s just you and all. And—” He shoved a spoon full of mashed potatoes into his mouth, running away from the moment as fast as he could. “Joyce—this is delicious! Did you put garlic in this?”

The meal continued, though not without a few more lingering glances and poorly concealed giggles from around the table.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Jonathan finally said, breaking the awkwardness hanging in the room. “We should maybe make up a schedule or something since everyone wants to help and all,” he joked, but there was a tinge of relief. A weight lifted off his shoulders.

It was then Joyce knew her boy would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awe, a mother-son moment *wipes away tears*


	9. Interlude: End of the School Year ~ Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typos will be fixed later.
> 
> Enjoy! :D

* * *

“We are not moving,” Jim declared before Joyce could get the entire question out. “This is our house and it will stay our house.”

Shaking out a sheet, Joyce pinned it on the clothes line. When she couldn’t quite get the top edge, Jim reached out to help her. He reached down to pull out more sheets from the basket; Joyce couldn’t do it all herself despite how stubborn she happened to be on the matter.

A warm, late spring breeze buckled through the backyard. Off a few yard away, El and Max sat under the trees, working on their weekend homework—but really giggling over magazines Max had bought on their way back home from downtown. Neither Jim nor Joyce had the heart to scold them to get back to work, both knowing the girls to get their work done before dinner.

In the opposite direction, off by the refurbished shed, Steve and Robin grumbled about as they moved their belongings from inside the house to their new home.

Jim’s mouth formed a line; the two had been excited and pleading for the move, yet they were now huffy and puffy. Well into a few weeks of living with them, it had come to Joyce and Jim’s attention that Jonathan needed more help than he led on, and maybe sticking him out in the refurbished shed was not the best idea. When they broached the topic with Steve and Robin, the two jumped at the opportunity.

But now—

“I get the spot by the window!”

“No! I do—I get claustrophobic!”

“Since when?”

“Since forever!”

They were worse than toddlers.

“Are we sure it is a good idea to let them live out here on their own?” Jim muttered, looking out to where the two continued to argue.

Joyce tsked, shaking out another bed sheet—Will’s, covered in dark lines and squiggles. “They are adults, Jim. I think they can handle living just ten feet away.”

He shook his head, eyes narrowed at the two. “They’re still kids.”

There was no telling him otherwise.

“I only bring up another house because of the baby.”

“Joanna is fine—”

“I’m talking about the _other_ baby,” Joyce motioned to her own protruding abdomen, “and we are going to need more room when they come.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, sure and confident on the matter. “If we need to build more space, then we’ll build more space.” He shrugged. “Don’t get too stressed about it.”

* * *

The end of the school year brought many things to the table. Finals, parties, and—

“Ugh, we’ll never find you a dress for prom!” Max flopped back on the waiting area chair. She and El had been shopping at the Echo Creek Mall—a good thirty minute drive from their own Hawkins—looking for prom dresses nonstop all Sunday afternoon.

Their curfew was ‘before dinner’, as Hopper liked to put. And they would meet said vague curfew, if El hadn’t spent the last four hours trying on different dresses.

“I want a perfect dress,” came El’s quiet reply. Her brows furrowed, unhappy with the long, puffy hot pink dress. “Like _Andie_.”

Max rolled her eyes, slouching further in her seat.

Of course El wanted a ‘perfect dress’ like Andie from _Pretty in Pink_. Who was Max to think otherwise?

“Well, Andie’s was custom made and I don’t know about you, but the only person I know who sews is Joyce and I am not about to ask her to make you a dress.”

El’s frown deepened. She fluffed the dress a bit, eyeing her reflection with determined hope. However, it only lasted a fleeting second.

She shook her head. “Not good enough.”

“Why does it matter?” Max shot back. “It is just junior prom. We’ll have another one next year. Just find something you like and have fun with it.”

“It needs to be perfect,” El said the word ‘perfect’ like it was sacred, like it held all the answers to the world. “For Mike.”

Max bristled at the boy’s name.

God, how she hated his name and the bizarre clutch he had on El and Will. Max could never runaway from the ‘Mike Conundrum’ no matter who she hung out with. If she was with Will, he’d bemoan and be sad, and send longing looks that made Max nauseous yet pitiful. Because poor Will; harboring all his love in his tiny body and never wanting to say a word. And then there was El, who mooned and sighed and smiled at the thought of him, and would go on and on and on about their relationship, like it was the be all and end all of all teen romances. And then—and then—when she hung out with the guys they’d be all pouty, _missing_ Mike because he was always so _busy_ now with school, chores, his mom, El, and even helping with Joanna.

Everyone loved Mike and Max still did not see the lanky moron’s appeal, even after four years of begrudging friendship.

“Who cares about Mike?” Pushing herself up, Max marched over to El. In the mirror, she met her eyes, challenging the girl. “Mike is just a guy. A dumb guy. You just need to pick a dress you like. No one else matters.”

El’s lips chewed together, the girl falling into deep thought.

Nodding to herself, she ambled off, leaving Max to herself as her dress dragged on the floor.

Alone in front of the mirror, Max sighed at her appearance. Her long hair was suffocating her in the on coming heat and her freckles were more prominent in the summer, she already trying to cover them with make-up.

Yet her make-up from that morning was beginning to smear off.

“This one!”

El came rushing back, entering the dressing room before Max could see her pick. Rustling and zipping was heard from the other side, the dress from before kicked out from under the door towards Max. She rolled her eyes and grabbed the discarded dress, putting it on a hanger and setting it in the massive ‘No’ pile.

The dressing room door was then flung open—

“Ta Da!”

El stood proudly in front of Max, the dress she choose bright and fun, just like her. Teal tulle fluffed up the short, sleeveless, dress, creating a bounce to the girl’s step. The taffeta fabric wrapped around her waist in funky yet form-fitting rousing, pulling together in large, off-centered bow.

“You look awesome,” Max gapped, motioning for El to twirl around. The girl complied, a smile on her face for the first time since they started shopping. “I love it.”

“Awesome,” El repeated the sentiment, her grin growing wider the longer she stared at herself in the mirror. “I look _awesome_.”

“Is that the one?” Max double checked, the time on the clock edging closer and closer to dinner time and she needed to eventually get Robin’s car back to her.

“Yes!”

Maybe all the hours trying dress after dress was worth it to see El’s smile. Max couldn’t complain at her friend’s joy.

* * *

The flier was dropped on his desk Monday morning.

“What the hell is this?” Steve picked it up, nose scrunching at the sight of _’88 Prom: Under the Stars_ printed across the piece of yellow paper. “Um, Chief, I don’t know if you are aware but I graduated back in ’85—”

Hopper wiped his face with an aggravated groan. “I’m not an _idiot_ Harrington. I know when you graduated.” He nodded to the flier, his eyes set in Chief mode, not Hopper-at-home mode. Steve was quick to learn the difference. “Last year the prom got a little out of hand—some one spiked the punch and got half the student body drunk which led to some streaking and several students breaking into the pool after hours. Principal Grant wants an officer or two on campus as extra chaperones to not have repeat of last year’s events.”

Steve felt his gut drop. “And you volunteered _me_?”

“I am ordering you as your supervising officer,” Chief corrected, “to be chaperone at the prom. Don’t worry, you won’t be alone—”

“Please don’t send—

“I’m sending Flores with you.”

Steve’s eyes bugged out, every bit of his soul freezing. He glanced to Nicole’s desk; miraculously empty. She was probably making coffee or filing something or whatever else she did, a fresh half eaten apple left on her desk.

“Why—why Nicole?”

Hopper’s eyes narrowed, not all too happy with the questioning but accepting it. “Because girls attend prom and we would need someone to go into the girl’s restroom if anything happened?” he phrased, as though Steve were the idiot in this situation, and maybe he was, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “And sometimes girl’s feel more comfortable with other girls.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Ah—okay. That makes sense.” He looked back down at the flier. “Chief, I got to confess—I don’t know about this.”

“About what?”

“Me—going to prom.” He shrugged, wincing. “I mean the kids are going to be there—"

Hopper pinched the bridge of his nose, already tired of the conversation. “I don’t care how you feel, it is an order. And with you there at least I have good set of eyes on them, especially Wheeler—if he tries any funny business—”

Thankfully Nicole to come back into the room at that exact moment.

“Flores,” Chief called out. She froze, coffee in hand and glasses slightly fogging up by the steam. “I have a field assignment for you.”

“But I’m a secretary.” Her eyes darted to Steve. “What is he talking about?”

Wordlessly, he handed her the flier.

“Ew. Prom. _Gross_.” She handed the yellow paper back to Steve. “Chief, I know where you are going with this—I’m not chaperoning. I didn’t even go to my own prom.”

“Not my problem,” Hopper gritted, tenser than he’d been moments ago. He probably didn’t expect Steve and Nicole to not be excited about a pretty low action ‘field assignment.’ “You two are chaperoning prom on Saturday and no complaints. Got it?”

“Sure?” Nicole uttered, sitting down at her desk.

“You got it, Chief,” Steve said, begrudgingly.

Chief, while not completely satisfied by their lack of enthusiasm, nodded at the two, ending the conversation before it could get dragged on any longer. “God, kids these days…” he muttered, walking off to his office.

“He does know we are adults, right?” Nicole asked off, picking her coffee back up. She blew on the hot drink, taking a tentative sip. “We aren’t…sixteen and stupid.”

“Well, in his eyes we are twenty-one and stupid.” Steve turned in his chair, facing Nicole for the first time that morning. He tried not to think how nice her hair looked with half of it pulled back and away from her face. Her short curls still hung around her jaw, but not as aggressive as they’d be with all her hair down. The thought of ruffling her curls popping into his mind, Steve filled with a sudden glee at the thought of seeing her get all huffy and upset.

“…Steve are even listening to me?”

“Huh,” he blinked, realizing he’d just been staring right at Nicole for the last few moments, without saying a word. “…uh yeah. Yeah, totally.”

“Then what did I say?” She raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“Uh…how excited you are?” He tried, knowing it was the wrong answer the moment the words left his mouth.

She rolled her pretty brown eyes, annoyed. “No. I said I think the Chief is only sending us because he wants someone to keep an eye on El and Will.” She picked up a file, getting back to work. “He’s kind of paranoid like that.”

“He has every right to be paranoid,” Steve said, surprised by his own defense.

“And why is that?” Nicole asked, a hint of genuine curiosity. “I mean, I get it. He’s there dad, but not all dads are as aggressively paranoid like Hopper. Did El run away or something?”

“Or something,” Steve muttered. Then winced, because yeah—El _did_ runaway too.

Usually, Nicole would drop the matter. While grumpy and defensive when provoked, she wasn’t confrontational. She didn’t push anyone around or press for answers; she was rather respectful for someone who secretly had little respect for many people.

But apparently that wasn’t the case on this instance.

“Is it because of something that happened when he went under cover for a few months?”

Steve tensed.

Hopper’s ‘death’ was well known and publicized. Hell, the national news was interested in the events. But the government knew how to cover their tracks and came up with a story—Hopper was brought on as a consultant on an undercover mission with the FBI. That was that. Nothing more, nothing less, and no one asked further questions because everyone knew it best not to.

Everyone, except for Nicole that is.

“Uh, no,” Steve uttered, his voice cracking, “no. Nothing about that. He is just protective of her because she’d his daughter and Will is basically his son, so he cares. He cares a lot.”

He stood up before she could ask any more questions, muttering about using the restroom.

Steve wasn’t too sure what he’d say if Nicole asked him more questions; he couldn’t stomach the thought of lying to her. Lying to her over and over.

She didn’t deserve that. She could be trusted.

But he knew it best to not say anything; the Hoppers were his family, and he had to protect them, even if it meant lying to a girl he _maybe-sort of-but not really-but really, really_ liked.

* * *

Robin noticed it.

She noticed it a long time ago.

She just didn’t say anything.

Because she wouldn’t want anyone to say anything about her at that age, so she understood.

But that didn’t mean she was just going to sit around when Will declared, in an oddly melodramatic fashion, that he _wasn’t_ going to prom.

He didn’t have a date. He didn’t have a reason to go, as he so put.

Joyce was sad…just sad. Wept a bit over the fact, though many assumed it was due to hormones. She was due any day now, and anything could offset her. Such as her youngest son refusing to go to prom.

So once dinner was over, Mike and El on dishwashing duty, Robin cornered Will in his room. He was curled up in his bed, hugging his pillow to his chest like it was mightiest shield in the world. She knew the position all too well.

“If you are going to tell me I should go because I will regret it then leave,” he said before Robin could get a word in.

She leaned against the door, shrugging. “Nah, prom can suck. Can definitely suck for people like us.”

“People like…” Will looked up from her, eyes alight with discovery before dimming in frustration. He swallowed, sinking lower into his bed. “Did you go?”

“Yeah,” she answered, “my junior and senior year. Got dragged along by some idiots in my band class.” She snorted at the memory of those dudes dancing like no one was watching. She let herself join in, not something she would usually do around people, but she had a reluctant group. People she could let loose around for a little bit. Not a lot, but a little bit.

“Was it fun?” he asked quietly, as though scared of the answer.

“Yeah, for the most part,” she answered, walking over to him. She took a seat on the edge of his bed, before nudging him to the opposite end so she could lay down beside him. “The only part that sucked,” she lowered her voice, Will turning to face her, his curiosity piqued, “was when the girl I liked danced with some douche.”

“Oh. Yeah. That can suck,” Will agreed, sounding small.

“You should go,” Robin stated, sure and encouraging, “because ya know what, getting dressed up and hanging out with friends outweighs that little moment. In fact, I didn’t even remember it until now—” Okay, that was a lie, but she wasn’t going to let little Will know that, “—and you should go for your mom. I think she’d really like to see you go to prom, even if it is just to get pictures. Parents eat that shit up.”

He gave a watery chuckle, leaning further into her side, like she was an anchor.

She liked the idea of being Will’s anchor. Being his surrogate older sister. It kind of gave her fuzzy feelings in her gut, full of hope and happiness, because he was a good kid despite all the shit in his life and he didn’t deserve more shit.

“If you want…I can be your date,” she suggested, a huge grin consuming her. “We can have a blast together, and get this—the moment you want to leave, we can! Because I have a car!”

Will blinked, a faint smile on his lips. “You’d…you’d do that for _me_?”

She slapped his shoulders, giddy at the thought of hanging out with her buddy for the night, making his prom fun and memorable. “Of course, dude! Why wouldn’t I?”

Will beamed, the first genuine smile she’d seen from him in a long time.

* * *

Max wasn’t too sure if she was asking for too much.

But she didn’t know who else to ask.

Joyce would probably convince her to not do it. Robin would panic mid-way through. El would fuck it up. And Steve would try to haul her off to a hair salon because no one— _no one_ —could be trusted with hair except a professional, damn it.

So she knocked on the door.

Mike opened it, frowned down at her in surprise.

“What’s up?”

Behind him, Joanna was asleep in her crib, the baby a heavy sleeper once she got past her never sleeping stage of infanthood. A good thing considering Jonathan started working later at the newspaper and Mike could watch her in the afternoon without too many problems.

Max held up scissors. “Can you cut my hair?”

His eyebrows jumped up into his moppy hair.

“Uh…wouldn’t you want Joyce or—or Robin to do something like that?”

Max rolled her eyes. “No. I already ran through the possibilities. No one, but you can do it.”

Mike wasn’t convinced. “What about Will?”

“He’d take too long and maybe only cut it to mu shoulder.”

“Or Dustin or Lucas?”

“Dustin worships hair, an at home hair cut would kill him. And I don’t trust Lucas to cut my hair without purposely messing it up.”

The lanky boy before her, shifted from foot to foot, hugging the door and blocking her way in. “But you trust me?”

Of course he’d make that stupid assumption. “No,” she said plainly. “But you are the only one in the house that has the guts to do it and not argue otherwise with me because you already think I’m batshit crazy.”

Mike opened his mouth and promptly shut it. “You have a point.”

She waved the scissors in front of him. “So are you going to cut it, or am I going to have to do it myself?”

“Fine,” Mike huffed, allowing her to come in, “but we have to do it in here because I can’t leave Joanna alone.”

“Whatever.”

Max was already beelining over to the desk chair, pulling it out to the open space in the room. Mike handed her a discarded towel, she wrapping it around her neck like a cape. She sat down on chair, handing him a comb she had tucked into her back pocket.

“How short?” he asked, the phrase awkwardly tumbling out of his mouth.

“To _here_.”

His eyes widened at the length she gave him.

“That short?”

“That short.”

He audibly gulped.

“Okay…”

“Remember what I said—you are the only one who has the guts to do it,” she taunted, “unless you don’t—”

“I do!” Mike hissed.

And he snipped off a piece without second thought.

Red hair fell to floor, a small pile forming with just one cut.

Mike’s jaw dropped.

Max gapped.

They looked at each other. Wide and afraid, but thrilled.

“Don’t just fucking stand there like a moron. Cut more!”

He did as told, the two falling back into silence as he continued to cut.

The entire time Max willed herself to not think about how nice his fingers felt in her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did everyone need to reread that last sentence a few times? Lol.

**Author's Note:**

> Robin. I love her :)
> 
> The title comes from 'Our House' by Madness.
> 
> Let me know what you think. Comments and kudos are always appreciated; love discussing fics with readers!
> 
> check out my other stranger things fic 'package from a distant memory' [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19549066/chapters/46452733)


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